


A Call to Arms

by Ladyoftarth



Series: A Change of Heart [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon, Complete, F/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 85,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Where have you gone Brienne?</i><br/>Spring had come but Jaime found himself longing for winter, when men had been forced still by the snows and the cold, their plots and intrigues as frozen as the ground.</p><p>This is a sequel to "A Change of Heart". A Jaime/Brienne story, with considerable appearances by other characters from ASOIAF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Threat from the East

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you read please leave a comment at the end of the chapter, always helps brighten my day, or if you're shy, hit that 'heart' button and throw me a kudos! Thanks :)
> 
> These characters all belong to the beloved George R. R. Martin. My story is just a simple bit of wish fulfillment for two of my favorite characters from his books.

“Stannis is dead,” Brienne said her voice low and uncertain.

“No. He is alive, and all by all accounts he is amassing an army in the east; gathering his forces and determined to wage war. We must stop that from happening.” The Queen said assertively.

Brienne stood silently watching the blue waters of the sea, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed; Jaime held his breath as he waited for his wife’s reply. Her long braid hung down her back, a few strands had loosened with their play in the orchards, a blade of pale grass was caught in her hair, blowing in the wind.  She had grown out her hair all these years, every morning a servant would braid it into a style that allowed her to train and combat easily.  In the evenings Jaime took great pleasure loosening her braid and running his fingers through her flaxen locks.  There wasn’t a day that passed when Jaime didn’t recognize the true happiness he had found with her by his side and the family they had created.

“Perhaps we could have the evening to convene?” Jaime offered, he needed to offer a diplomatic ‘no’, hoping to buy time to speak with Brienne before she pledged their house to this war.

Daenerys hesitantly nodded. “Of course.” A pleasant smile upon her lips.

“Thank-you your Grace.” Brienne answered. “Let us walk with you to the castle, we shall sup and have a room prepared for you.”  Her eyes drifted to the dragon laying in the tall grasses under a cluster of trees. “What accommodations need to be made for your dragon?”  Brienne looked at the beast with guilt.  She had never relished her victory over Drogon, although most subjects in the  Queendom celebrated her slaying of the dragon with stories and song.

“Do you have a stable hand I may speak with?  He will need food, Viserion favours horse meat.”

 _The gall of royalty_ , Jaime thought with some bitterness. He bit his tongue, thankful the Queen had allowed them some respite from an immediate decision.

“Certainly your Grace.” Brienne nodded.

“Your brother sends his regards,” Daenerys turned to Jaime a pleasant smile on her face, her eyes saying something else.

Jaime silently nodded, and motioned in the direction for the trio to make way to Evanfall Hall.  He had not seen his brother since Kings Landing over seven years ago, before the birth of the twins, and the birth of his own son, a year younger than his own, tucked away at the Rock with his mother Sansa.  They wrote to each other occasionally.  Jaime admittedly enjoyed Tyrion’s letters they were always peppered with wit and his voice travelled well scrolled in ink. Ever the dutiful Hand Tyrion was occupied with setting the Queendom right, he and Brienne had been busy building their own lives on Tarth, their training of the Sapphire Knights being paramount.  Jaime’s anger had ebbed over the years where Tyrion was concerned, and his heart longed to see his brother again.

“What a beautiful piece of land Tarth is,” pleasantries came easily to the Queen, she smiled as she spoke admiring the landscape.

It was the beginning of summer and the trees hung heavy with early fruit, the wild flowers and gentle grasses blew fragrant breezes through the air.  Tarth truly was a lovely gem, surrounded by blue waters of all shades, and lush green forests.  It was the fraction of the size his lands at Casterly Rock had been, but it felt more like home than anywhere he had ever been.

“Thank-you, your Grace.” Jaime said politely. Despite his sour mood he too could act the pleasant host when necessary.

As they neared the castle battle training could be heard rising up from the yards. There had been many improvements made to Evanfall Hall over the years, where other houses fell as the winter stretched on, their home grew more impressive.  They would need to make more additions again soon, there seemed to be an increase of recruits every year, half of the ones currently in training had to be housed in tents.

It could be an easy excuse to take his leave, to join his men in training,  but he did not trust to leave Brienne alone with Daenerys, who knew what vows she would make in his absence.  He was desperate to speak with her privately before any commitments were made needlessly

Hunt must have warned the servants of the Queen’s presence. The dining hall was hastily being prepared, fresh linens of their house colours were laid out on the tables, their finest settings and cutlery, fresh flowers arranged in the center of the table. The midday meal was set out before them, several servants scrambling in from the kitchens with an assortment of delicacies.  Jaime could only imagine the state the cook had been in upon learning the Queen would be dining with them.   In a scant amount of time they had filled the table with an assortment of savory meats, cheeses, fruits  and breads.  A nervous looking servant girl poured their wine and hurried away. Hunt had the good sense to keep the children in the kitchens; it would be a small casual meal of just the three.

What a strange set of dinner companions they made.  The Kingslayer, the Lady Dragonslayer and the conquering Targaryen Queen.  Jaime thanked the Gods no minstrels were present.

They ate little in an uncomfortable silence.  Jaime grimaced and prepared himself for the small talk that they would be required to make. Gods knew his wife left that work to him, Brienne was hopeless at dinner chatter.

“How goes things in the capital my Grace?” Jaime asked Daenerys.  He couldn't imagine being any less interested a topic, but knew it was a subject she would have plenty to elaborate on.

Daenerys seemingly grateful for the conversation swallowed the food in her mouth and nodded.  “Very well.  It has taken time but we have recovered nicely, the population is not as it once was before the wars, I am told that the people are fed and happy. We have rebuilt most of the gates, and are opening new trades with the free eastern cities.

“Your Dothraki?” Jaime asked moving the conversation along.

“Some, yes.”

The Queen continued to speak of the fine goods brought in from the Essos capitals, Jaime half listened, his eyes searching for his wifes.  Brienne was distracted, biting her lip and deep in thought, she was absolutely useless with entertaining. Then unexpectedly she asked.

“How is it that Stannis is alive?”

 _As subtle as a thunderclap_ … Jaime thought reaching for his wine.

 

 

 

 


	2. Vows Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hints at the fate of Stannis, and the Queen is given an answer.

They had heard the tale of Stannis Baratheon’s death at the Wall, how he had been so trusting of his Red Priestess and her magic.  The ultimate show of loyalty to their flaming god, to step into an inferno sword in hand, to re-emerge and be born anew in its flames, born as a saviour of the realm.  He had screamed and burnt to a crisp by all accounts.  Managing to hang on to his wretched life for a half a day before expiring. The red woman had disappeared shortly after his death leaving the realm without a grand saviour.  In the end it had been through the combined effort of all men along with Daenerys and her dragons. When it was through old hatreds had died, others remained, and some were born.

For Jaime the news of Stannis  had been a welcomed blessing.  It had extinguished a foolish vow his wife had made years ago.

“It was not Stannis who perished. I have it in good confidence it was a ruse by his Red Sorceress.”

“Even if he is alive, what chance does he have against your armies, and your dragons? Why do you have need of us?” Jaime asked.

“As I’ve said, he poses a very serious threat, I would be a fool to take him lightly, as would you.” Her answer is not one at all...

“Why go to these lengths as if you allow us the decision?”

“In truth, I wanted to see  these fabled Sapphire Knights of yours, to see if the words of praise were worthy or exaggerations.”

“They are the best in all  the realms.” Brienne said.

“What makes you so certain?”

“They have our skill in combat and her honour imbedded into their bones.” Jaime gestured towards Brienne.

“You think highly of your wife.”

“As any man should. Did yours not think the same of you?” It was a cruel barb, he knew Daenerys had been through her share of husbands, all but the Dothraki Khal were unworthy of her if the rumours were to be believed.  There were other rumours that the young Queen was barren, a problematic circumstance that was his brothers concern not his.  

Jaime was in a  bitter and sour mood, they had built a good life, and like a dark shadow this wretched Queen was about to blight out their happiness, pulling them back into a bloody war, all for the sake of an unworthy false King, one who killed his wife’s first love, unrequited as it may have been.  

 

Stannis had been the first to sully Brienne’s name, there were still those who believed she had killed Renly Baratheon, the beginnings of her infamy. Those who truly knew Brienne trusted in her story of murderous shadows.  Unlike the king he slew, Brienne had loved the one she served.  She had made a vow to avenge Renly’s death, and Brienne always  kept her word.  He shivered at the thought of how differently  things could have been if Catelyn Stark had had it in her mind to command Brienne to take his head that night in the dungeons.

“You will be a part of this whether you desire to be or not Lannister, I promise you this war will make it to your shores.” The Queen said Lannister as a slur, the way others had said ‘Kingslayer’ behind his back so many years ago.

“You will not have the Sapphire Knights.  There is no direct threat to Tarth, we cannot call them.”  Brienne’s sudden declaration startled him.

A cloud darkened Daenerys face, but it was fleeting and she forced a grin back upon her lips. “I would not have come alone without guard if the threat wasn’t imminent.”

“I’m sorry your Grace, but you may have those that are here, those that have not been promised to any house.” Brienne said gently but with firmness.

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief, it was the best answer he could have hoped for.

Daenerys looked to him.  “This is your decision?”

“Brienne is right, we do not call the soldiers home unless the enemy is at our shores.  This vow is not made lightly.” Jaime sincerely wished he had not uttered those words.

Her eyes squinted at him briefly and pointedly she said. “Yes, vows are important."

Daenerys rose from the table, both Jaime and Brienne stood with her, eager to say goodbye.

You’ve made your decision. I think I will forego your invitation and return to Kings Landing tonight.”

Brienne made promises of corresponding for what was to come next with the soldiers they had committed.  As satisfied with their dealings as both parties could be, Brienne excused herself and  departed for the training yards,  leaving Jaime with the task of escorting the Queen back to her dragon.

“I still wish to see your fabled knights before I take my leave.”  

“Of course your Grace.”  Jaime plastered his most charming smile upon his lips, wanting nothing more than to see Daenerys off and away.

 

It was now late in the afternoon and a score of men were practicing in the yards.  

They stood for sometime admiring the skill of the men training. Jaime studied the Queen’s face as she watched their soldiers.  He could see by her expression she was impressed. 

“They are remarkable.” Her praise was cut short by a cry from the yards.

“Halt!”

Jaime watched with envy as Brienne entered the yard, armoured and ready to fight.  All soldiers stood at attention.  The respect the men had for Brienne  was obvious.  Jaime smiled slightly amused by the Queen’s reaction to the respect his wife so easily garnered. Remembering a time when it had not always been so. Brienne motioned to one of the soldiers calling him out of his line to duel.  Jaime watched his wife swing her sword, meeting the attack of the soldier, she was patient, waiting for his strikes, the knight was good, but no match for his Brienne. He himself was one of the only few who were.  She expertly parried his blows, and in a succession of a few precise swings unarmed the man.  Brienne removed her helm and offered words of advice to the soldier, from where they stood he could not decipher her words, but he no doubt knew it was something along the lines of giving away his strikes with the stance of his footing. A weakness he caught early on in their melee.

“She is very skilled.  I could not appreciate her talent the last time I witnessed her combat.” Daenerys continued to look on, her face only slightly hinting at the loss of her dragon.

“Shall we?” Jaime motioned for her to depart.  Daenerys hesitantly moved from her place, her focus distracted by another combatant pulled from file to fight  Brienne.  

They made their way down past the orchards and towards the beach where she had left her dragon slumbering, a pile of charred bones nestled below its claws.  Sensing her presence the dragon rose with a snort, its yellow eyes watching them.  Jaime felt his heart quicken, they were terrifying creatures.

How can Stannis pose a threat when she has her dragons?

“I came here as a politeness” Daenerys said as she patted her dragons head, she climbed up onto its back.  “I am your Queen, and I have been more than patient with you. If you are not supporting me and the realm, you are its enemy.”

Jaime ground his back teeth together.

“I will expect a commitment of all your Sapphire Knights to this cause. Do not delay too long, otherwise I promise you my next visit will not be as cordial.  I came as a favour to your brother. Lannister.”  His name had the flavour of Kingslayer again.

“Your Grace.” Jaime forced himself to smile and bow.

The gigantic  leathery wings of the dragon clapped into the sky with Daenerys clung to its back.  

Jaime watched her beast encircle Evanfall Hall and then turn back towards the west.

 _She could set flame and destroy us all at this moment if she had it in her mind to_ , Jaime thought as he watched the shadowy silhouette shrink into the distance, one last haunting screech wailing to meet his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all set up, more to come.  
> Comments appreciated.


	3. A Changing Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime found his wife in solitude resting against a wall, hair and skin glowing from her swordplay, she was drinking from a flask, her throat deliciously swallowing the cool water.
> 
> He slunk down next to her.
> 
> They both sat in silence, staring out over the horizon, their eyes on the ocean in the distance, neither one wanting to have the conversation they knew they must.

When he returned to the battle yards, the soldiers had retired for the day, some milled about in casual conversation, most would be enroute to the kitchens or the village to partake in a hard earned meal and drink. The night felt as though it was going to be a warm one, every passing day felt more and more like summer.  The winds were picking up in the east carrying sweet breezes up from the water and fields.

Jaime found his wife in solitude resting against a wall, hair and skin glowing from her swordplay, she was drinking from a flask, her throat deliciously swallowing the cool water.

He slunk down next to her.

They both sat in silence, staring out over the horizon, their eyes on the ocean in the distance, neither one wanting to have the conversation they knew they must.

“Why did you not wait until the morning to give her our answer? I about fell out of my seat when you denied her request.”

“I didn’t like her tone when she was addressing you.”

“Ever my protector.” Jaime smiled sadly.  “Daenerys will not take ‘no’ for an answer, she all but threatened us before flying off.”

“I know. But we cannot promise our Knights until we know with certainty Stannis intends to land upon our shores. I must go and find him first.”

“Prepared to leave our children motherless?” He only half regretted the words he knew would cut her. Brienne’s temper rarely flared, but after all their years together he knew what would provoke her.

“How dare you? What would you have me do? Sit here and wait until his sword is pointed at our throats?” Her large blue eyes flashed.

Jaime refused to back down, his own anger and frustration threatening to bubble over.

“I dare because its the truth.  You are nothing to Stannis, you are nothing to Daenerys Targaryen, and you were certainly nothing to Renly fucking Baratheon.”

Brienne cast her eyes downwards, her voice became small. “I know that.  How could you think I didn’t know that?”

“Brienne, I’m sorry, but we don’t know enough, for you to blindly search him out is a hideously terrible plan. We have bought some time with Daenerys, let us send others east, gather our own information.”  He paused and laughed lightly, “To imagine a day when I am protesting going to war.”  

_Its because for the first time I have so much to lose…_

“I agree that we need to know more, I will go east.” Brienne hunched over her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs.

“Brienne, please.”  She refused to look at him.  He could feel his temper growing again.  “Do not do this.”

She turned to him, her gentle and calloused hands reaching for his face. “Jaime what choice do we have? You said so yourself.  The Queen will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“So we call them! We join Daenerys, and if Stannis is stupid enough to come here we fight together.”

“I don’t trust her.” Her words shocked him. They had spoken little of the Queen, they had purposely isolated themselves from the intrigues of the mainland, living in their jewel on the sea had afforded them that luxury, but it was truly foolish to think it could have lasted forever. Their wealth and success had caught the Queen’s attention, she had cast her net and now they were being unwillingly pulled in.

“I don’t either. But, it doesn’t have to be you, send some of our best to scout ahead.”

“I would not send a man to do what is mine to fulfill.  I would see the threat for myself, lay my eyes upon his armies. I will return better prepared.” There was steel in her voice and in her eyes.  Jaime knew by the finality in her tone their time to bandy words had come to an end.  He pushed himself up from the ground, too infuriated to sit any longer with her.  She called to him, her pleas becoming blessedly indistinguishable in the wind as he stormed away.

 

She stood at the window, a sharp dagger clutched in her hand.  

“Brienne.” He said her name gently, the defeat clear in his voice, knowing her mind was made up. Knowing it was useless.

On the table beside her lay a severed braid, like a long pale golden rope. She had cut her hair, she would be leaving soon.

“I have to.”

“You don’t”

She paused and said. “Jaime, please…”

“I hate you for this.”

He crossed the room and gathered her in his arms.  She fell willingly into his embrace, he kissed her hard upon the mouth, an attack as much as it was a kiss.  If this was to be one of their last nights together he was going to make it count.

She was in her dressing gown, a flimsy thing of summer stock. He pressed his hand onto her chest, pushing her back onto the table, forcing her to sit upon it.  He leaned into her, breathing her in, through the nightgown  he could feel the warmth of her body, every familiar curve and bend. All her hard earned scars, and tense muscles.  He released her mouth from his smothering kiss momentarily, tearing her gown at its neck to reveal her chest, reaching his hand up to her throat he firmly pushed her chin upwards with his thumb, exposing her long pale neck.  He attacked with a  hungry fervor, licking and biting at her.

“Jaime.  That hurts.” She whispered breathlessly.

“Good. I want to hurt you.” Jaime answered back, excited as the words escaped his lips.

Brienne gasped as he squeezed her throat tighter yet, sucking at her nipples, wetting her breasts with eager licks.

Jaime released the grip he had on her throat the red marks of his fingers left burned in her soft skin, he reached down to touch the folds of her sex, the wetness reaffirmed she was enjoying herself, the realization deepened his own lust.

“You may be a warrior and commander, but tonight you are my wife, and tonight I will fuck you.”

Jaime thrust his cock into her, all gentleness set aside, he moved his hips quick and hard, his eyes never leaving her face, enjoying the struggle in her expression as she shut her eyes tightly and bit her lips to stifle her obvious pleasure.  As he pushed into her she would forget herself, allowing an occasional moan of arousal to escape.  He only slowed his pace when his own excitement threatened to boil over, as he did so her glorious legs wrapped around him, she squeezed him tightly, pulling him in deeper, and like a sudden cresting wave he was spent.

He fell into her arms, she caressed the back of his neck and hair, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back, wet with sweat.  

“I love you Brienne.” He whispered into her ear as she held him.

“And I you, Jaime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like the occasional angry sex?
> 
> ...
> 
> Going to go hide now.


	4. An Unwanted Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime lay asleep on the bed, spent from their lovemaking. He had every right to be angry with her, he would be angrier still in the morning. The pale glow of the moonlight illuminated his fine features, every passing year more grey hair peppered his golden locks, but time was kind to men and he looked more handsome because of it. Brienne watched him sleep committing his face to memory before leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll re-read this one tomorrow sometime. Just really wanted to put it up tonight. Apologies for any errors.

There had been so much blood.  It had terrified her and it had terrified Jaime.  Their elation and happiness dampened with sudden dark dread.  Jaime still holding the little babe in his arms stood helpless as the maester and midwife pushed him aside to tend to her.

She could remember little of that night, but the pain, fear, and the blood.  The faint sound of the cries of her new daughter spurred her on to fight her way back.  She had never had so much to live for, and Brienne was a fighter.

When she opened her eyes the babe was at her breast feeding.  Brienne lifted her head and delicately ran her fingers over the soft sparse hair.  Tears brimming at her eyes, blurring her view of this precious new life.  Her tiny new daughter, she was a mother!

She placed her hand at her mouth trying to muffle a happy cry, she didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness of the room.

“Brienne,” Jaime whispered in the darkness.  He moved from his chair and knelt beside them, a glowing and relieved smile beaming across his handsome unshaven face. He thumbed the tears falling down her cheeks away, she grabbed his hand holding it to her face.  There was so much happiness it felt as if something was trying to tear itself out of her chest. Unbidden tears and gulps escaped her lips again.

“What is it? Are you hurt?  I’ll get the maester.”

“No, no. I’m just happy, I’m too happy.”  She laughed feeling like a fool.

The little babe stirred and cried, at first small broken cries, but as she stirred more the voice grew larger, she balled her fists and screamed,  her little bald head became red.

“Our little lion can roar!” Jaime grinned proudly as he gathered the babe in his arms.

He paced the room with her, shushing and soothing her.  He cradled her neck with his left hand, and rubbed her back with his dismembered right.  The golden hand had been set aside, too harsh and cold to be useful for this work.

Brienne sat back against her pillow drinking in the sight of her new family.  She wondered if her own father had held her in that very same way.  The thought brought more tears to her eyes, she attempted to swallow her cries, only managing to make those strange gulping noises again.

Jaime turned to her, concern etched on his tired face.

“I’m sorry I can’t seem to stop,” 

Jaime brought the now soothed infant back to her, he returned the girl to Brienne’s chest and crawled into bed beside them.

When Brienne had calmed she asked, “Where is Evan?”

“Our son is sleeping peacefully, as should you. We will need our rest if the stories from my childhood are true about twins.”  

He rarely mentioned Cersei, but when she did flitter into conversation it always left a cold momentary grip on her heart.  She brushed it away and gave in to the warmth of Jaime lying beside her, and the sweetness of her new baby daughter in her arms.

The memory of Giselda’s first night in the world was the dearest to both their hearts.  As the girl grew she had proven to be intelligent, fiery, and mischievous.  More like Jaime in appearance and personality. The only scrap of Brienne the girl seemed to have was her large blue eyes and occasional stubbornness.

Evan was more like Brienne, quiet and gentle, shy but not painfully so. He was good natured and listened well, whenever he did lapse into mischief it was usually at the influence of Giselda.  Brienne smiled sadly thinking of her children her heart aching for what she had to do next.

  
  


Jaime lay asleep on the bed, spent from their lovemaking.  He had every right to be angry with her, he would be angrier still in the morning.  The pale glow of the moonlight illuminated his fine features, every passing year more grey hair peppered his golden locks, but time was kind to men and he looked more handsome because of it.  Brienne watched him sleep committing his face to memory before leaving the room.

She found the clothes she had stashed in the chest outside their rooms, leather breeches dyed a dark grey, a simple tunic, and the worn blue jacket he had given her in Kings Landing so many years ago, she thumbed at the stitches where she had mended the tear, it was the night she had thought him with his sister. The nights were warmer, but she took a cloak as well, closing it about her breast with a pin, another gift from Jaime, a silver lion with two small sapphires for eyes.

At the bottom of the chest was her sword.  Oathkeeper.  With her blade at her hip, she felt prepared to face whatever challenge may lie for her across the sea.  Her sincerest hope was to never having to draw it.  If the Gods were good she would make it to Essos find Stannis’ whereabouts, the strength of his armies and better gage the risk he posed. If war was to be brought to their home, she would be prepared.

She held her breath as she walked down the curved stairs the soles of her soft leather boots scraping against the stone.  The first door she reached was Evan’s. A small tallow candle burned at the window, casting a dim light upon his sweet face.  Brienne didn’t want to risk waking him but couldn’t resist kissing his forehead, a gentle press of the lips she let linger.  The boy smelled earthy like the outdoors, as every child should.

She could not risk staying, for fear she would cry and wake him.  Leaving his room she continued down towards the room where her daughter slumbered. The children had never shared a room. Jaime had been adamant that they never sleep in the same bed.  Brienne had not fought him.

Giselda was sprawled across her covers, her tiny feet hanging off the side of the bed.  Brienne lifted the blanket that had pooled onto the floor.  She covered her daughter with the finely knit soft blanket, a gift from Sansa Lannister at the Rock, a blanket she had stopped Jaime from burning when it had first arrived. Brienne brushed a few strands away from the girls face, kissing her temple lightly.  As she turned to leave a small sleepy voice gave her pause.

“Mother?” Brienne did not dare turn, she knew she would be lost if she did.

“Go back to sleep,” She whispered, it was a command as much as a plea.

For once the child did not argue and settled back into her bed.  Brienne briskly strode out of the room.  

Her tears wiped away and features set she made her way to the outer yards where her men were waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And queue how angry everyone is with Brienne...


	5. The Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime awakens to find Brienne gone.

The bed was cold where it should have been warm.

She had been gone for some time.

Jaime’s stomach tightened with fear, not wanting to believe what he suspected.

 

“What do you mean she is gone?”

“Lady Brienne left with a small number of men in the early hours of the morning, before the dawn my lord.”

Jaime was seething with anger. Staggered that Brienne could do such a thing.  He had been an unsuspecting idiot.  He thought he had more time to convince her to come to her senses, to think of a better way out, it was so unlike her to manufacture such a move, to slink away in the night.

“Where have they gone?”

Dalton handed Jaime a note, pressed with her blue seal.

He held the letter in his hand, feeling as though he had been plagued with unwanted notes his whole adult life. He broke the seal, her familiar scrawl greeted him.

 

_Jaime,_

_I beg your forgiveness. If I had stayed longer, I knew you would find a way to make me stay. I will return as soon as I can._

 

_\- Brienne_

 

He clutched the note firmly, tempted to fling it into the fire, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Who did she leave with?”

Dalton was a good man, loyal and one of their best, commander in their stead.  He listed the names of those that had left with her.  All Easterosi.  Men who would be of use across the sea, she had put thought into who she selected to take with her. Jaime marvelled that she could plan so much in such little time.

“Could we catch them?” He knew the answer before he asked.

“I’m afraid not Ser, we’ve no idea which port she is heading to.”

 _What use will her findings be if we do not answer Daenerys Targaryen’s call when it comes?_ Jaime wondered bitterly. _Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr? Where have you gone Brienne?_

Spring had come but Jaime found himself longing for winter, when men had been forced still by the snows and the cold, their plots and intrigues as frozen as the ground.

“I’m going after her.” Jaime said no longer able to stand the feeling of the walls surrounding him.

“Ser?” Dalton stitched his brow.

“She is a gigantic woman in armour.  My wife will not be difficult to ask about!” He was losing his temper, and he knew the man didn’t deserve the brunt of it.  
“I wish you luck Ser, but the odds of you...”

“Get me Hyle Hunt,” Jaime cut him off not wanting to listen to his logic.

Dalton turned on his heel and did as requested.

Jaime knew Hunt cared for Brienne, he made efforts to not think on how much the man cared for his wife, but for once he was glad for his presence.  Brienne trusted him with the children’s safety, and that made Jaime rest easier with what he was about to do.

 

Hunt and Dalton did not keep him waiting.

“Ser?”

“I have a request of you.”

“Is it about my lady?” Hunt asked.  Jaime squinted his eyes at Hyle, wondering what he knew.

“I’m going after Lady Lannister, I ask that you keep the children safe in our absence.” He looked him in the eye, “I will be in your debt.”

“As if they were my own Ser Jaime. I hope you find her, and bring her home.”

Jaime nodded, feeling as satisfied as he could be.

“Bring me my children, I wish to say goodbye before parting.”

Jaime prepared himself, he didn’t want to scare or worry them.  They had never left their children for any great length of time.  

 

Hunt returned promptly.

“Father!” Giselda rushed through the door colliding into his embrace.  Evan ran after her and joined their hug.

Holding his children it became clear why she had left the way she did.  She wanted him to stay with them, to protect them should she fail.  Jaime forced a smile to his lips, gathered his daughter in his arms and patted Evan upon his head, ruffling his dark hair.  

“Where is mother?” Evan asked.

“She went on a boat trip…”

“Is she fishing?” Evan asked looking disappointed she would have went without him.

“No she isn’t fishing; she went to visit an old friend. I am going to meet her and bring her home. Now be good, listen to Ser Hyle in our absence. We will not be long.”

Evan nodded, and Giselda looked at him with suspicion.

He hugged them again as they landed sweet kisses at his cheeks.

“Come children, Septa Jayne will be wondering why you are so late to break your fast.” Hunt scuttled the children along.  For the second time that morning Jaime was grateful for the man.

Jaime packed little and rode out in haste, determined to catch the first boat he could heading east. He rode down paths leading to groves, lakes, and waterfalls, all the familiar places that evoked a happy memory of Brienne, places where they fought, practiced at swords and places where they had made love.  He had once joked that they would have to rename Tarth, ‘Brienne’s Arth’, for all the spots on the island they had made love. He had flavoured the word ‘arth’ with his very best Vargo Hoat impersonation. She had failed to see the humour in that jape, knocking him flatly to the ground.

The thought of her boat gliding out to sea putting distance between them with every passing second wrenched at his heart and drove him to ride his horse faster.

He raced up the hill, one last crest between him and the ocean, to the busy docks, certain he would find a boat willing to take him, enough gold could change the course of any ship and then his breath was cut sharp.

“Gods.” Jaime pulled the reins of his horse, suddenly shocked by the violent sky that greeted him.  The dark sky brewed ominously on the horizon. Boiling dark masses of clouds with purple flashes of lightning flickered in the grey tempest, a low grumble of thunder carried across the water.

 _No. Gods no…_ Jaime’s heart was cold with dread.  No captain would sail out under a sky like that.  The ships he could see were heading back to land, their white sails stark against the darkened sky.

For the first time in years Jaime felt bound and helpless, he uttered a prayer to the Gods for Brienne’s safety, not knowing what else to do. Spurring his horse on he proceeded down to the harbour, a faint hope in his chest that her ship had been forced back.

 

He asked sailors and captains, anyone at the docks if they had seen Brienne.  There was no sign of her amongst the frenzied crews.  She had not come back on any of these ships.

 

“You best get back to Evanfall Hall, Ser Jaime, this is going to be a bitch of a storm. The first of many I’d say.”  The salty old fisherman sniffed at the air.

 

Silent and defeated, Jaime turned back, the first few drops of rain wetting his tunic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I always feel like I have to write something here... "uh oh" seems appropriate.


	6. Stormy Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm rages on.

For a brief moment an amber glow had lit the sky, and then they were swallowed up by darkness. The storm had come on suddenly, shortly after daybreak, they had sailed for a mere few hours when the winds had picked up without warning, the sail cracking like a whip.  Brienne looked to the captain and saw the fear in his eyes.  

“You and your men best get below deck my lady.”  

Brienne commanded her worried looking soldiers to do as the captain asked.

Below the deck they had clung to ropes, beams, and whatever their arms could grab on to.  Tossed and bashed, she shut her eyes tightly and prayed hard.  

She thought of her home, her children, and she thought of Jaime.

Her heart pounded with fear as the wooden ship creaked and groaned, the blasting winds roared all around them, waves smashing against the bow, water flowed in between the planks and down upon their heads. They tossed about for what felt like an eternity, with no signs of relief from the torment of the storm, then there came a sickening crack from above, followed by a sudden stillness.  The movements of the ship eased, and Brienne rose from where she was hunkered in, her arms sore and bruised from being tossed about, with shaky legs she stepped over spilled goods, pools of water and vomit.  Climbing through a hatch and up to the deck she looked up. Above her the sky was clear and eerily silent, she scanned the deck looking for the captain and his crew, there was no soul to be found.

The mast had snapped, the sail was gone, and the ships wheel slowly rolled unmanned.  

“My lady?” The Volentenes man named Torgys looked up at her from below, a former slave his face tattooed with the stripes of a tiger.  She silently wished his cheek was emblazoned with a fish.

“It is only the eye. Its not over.” She said hoping her voice didn’t carry the fear she felt in her chest.

“The captain?”

“Gone.  They’re all gone.”

She eyed the helm.  All her life she had loved being on the water, but the daunting thought of steering through a storm that had bested its captain and her crew left her feeling weak.  She looked back down to Torgys, his eyes wide and worried.

“Return below. I will take the helm.” She commanded.

Brienne did not hesitate, the calm would not last long.  Making her way she grasped the wheel in her hands, her fingers tensing tightly, glad for a task to focus on, anything was better than being thrown about blindly like a child’s rag doll.

Torgys came to her side grasping the spokes of the wheel beside her. “You cannot do this alone. I have never disobeyed an order from you my lady, but happy to do so this day.”

Brienne smiled, glad for his disobedience.  

Her smile was short lived upon her face as a crack of thunder loomed from above.  The storm was beginning again.

The ship rose and fell with each swell of water, her arms strained with effort to turn the ship into the waves.  She was chilled and soaked through with the waters of the storm. Torgys yelled to her, and she to him, each barely audible over the roar, and as quick as it had come it was over. Brienne collapsed and leaned against the wheel, Torgys beside her, they clasped hands and laughed like fools, happy to be alive.  Her newly shortened hair was plastered to her face, and her skin was wrinkled from being battered by the water, both realizing they were holding hands let go of the other as if their palms were burning cinders.  

“Apologies, I forgot myself.”

Brienne smiled. “Think nothing of it, let us see how the others are.”

The decks below were in even more of a disarray then when she had left, water was at their ankles, wood had splintered, beams were broken, and the hull groaned ominously.  

“Tyson has been killed my lady.” A soldier who hailed from Pentos covered the poor dead man with a cloak.  His skull had been smashed open into a bloody pulp by a heavy crate.

 _Another death on my head_ … Brienne felt a sharp pain of sorrow and guilt.

“Let us give him to the sea, and inspect the damage.”

Two weary soldiers carried the body up to the main deck and rolled his corpse over the bow.  It felt cruel and wrong to deliver him to the waters below, but there was nothing else could be done.

“My lady, water is coming in.  Too much of it. There must have been damage done to the hull.” Torgys said breathless as he climbed up from below.

“The rowboats?”  Brienne moved to the side of the boat. One small vessel was left dangling, enough for five men.  There were eight of them left aboard.

“We could be afloat for much longer yet, perhaps another ship will sail by?” Dustin, the knight from Bravos said.

My fault, all of it is my fault.

“We will sink, if we are going to use the rowboat, best to do it now, before we drift out further.” Torgys offered.

“I will stay here, the rest of you will draw straws. Two will stay with me.” Brienne said, the men looked staggered by her proclamation. Some protested, but she would hear none of it. Straws were brought to her from below, two were shortened.  Brienne gripped them in her fist, cursing the damnable circumstance they were in.

This first straw drawn was by Dustin, he would stay aboard.

“I will stay.” Torgys said.  “There is no more need for this.”

“You have been brave enough for one day, please.” Brienne held her fist out to him, willing him to pull a straw.”

“I’ll stop being ‘brave’ when you turn craven my lady.” His broad smile, belied the sacrifice he was making.

Brienne could see there would be no moving the man, and there was little time for argument.

 

They lowered the row boat, five of her men may yet live.  It was some consolation to her, given the pains of guilty torment she was feeling. She watched the small boat dip and plunge on the swells of the water as it moved away, bitter tears threatened to roll down her cheeks as she thought of her children and the man she had left behind that morning.

_Jaime..._

 

She turned her back away from the men in the rowboat and prayed for their safety.  Dustin looked pale and bewildered.  Brienne glanced to Torgys who nodded at her, his face was resigned, he had given himself over to their fate.

“You are both good honourable men. You deserve better deaths than this, forgive me.”

“The honour has been ours my lady Brienne.” Torgys bowed, Dustin followed suit.

Not knowing what else to do Brienne sat on the deck squinted up at the sun, now high in the air and waited for the ship to sink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action, action, action! 
> 
> Was going to hold off on posting this, but couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments :)


	7. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret is revealed.

They had more time than they thought, a lasting cruel moment to contemplate and think on their inevitable deaths.

 

They sat in silence, each of them shivering from the wet and cold, Brienne’s stomach clenched from hunger and her throat was dry with thirst. She looked to Dustin and Torgys, wondering what they were thinking about, if their last thoughts were anything like hers, she thought perhaps it was best they sit in silence.

         

The memory that kept coming back to her was one from so many years ago, the only secret she had kept from Jaime.

 

It had been their first time hosting a tournament in honour of the Sapphire Knights, a challenge and celebration of their skill.  After the battles, the praise, and the defeats there had been feasting, merriment, and drink.  Too much drink if truth be told.

 

Jaime had started partaking early; he had started in a foul mood losing the joust earlier in the afternoon. Brienne had pleaded with him to stop, but he persisted, and his mood soured with each drained cup. When the minstrel had strumed the first chords of ‘Dragonslayer from the East’ his temper had boiled over, smashing the poor man’s instrument to splinters. She had been irritated with his increasingly bad behavior, she had pulled him aside, away from the ears of others.  He had groped at her, misunderstanding her intent in being alone with him, the men had laughed at what they perceived as a bawdy display. Red faced and frustrated she had demanded he ‘go home’.   The look on his face had been shock and hurt.  She refused to soften, embarrassed by the scene he had made.  He wobbled out of the inn, two men half carrying him along, Brienne was glad she would not have to worry about him falling somewhere drunkenly and harming himself.

 

She had stayed at the inn stubbornly attempting to enjoy the stories and songs of the others, but her the scene with Jaime had broken the spell, and her mood was spoiled.  She had one last drink when they toasted the slight dark woman who had shocked them all by winning all of the archery events, and placing third at swords.  She had arrived shortly before the tournament, a quiet solitary woman who did not smile easily.  Not much was known of her, Brienne could not place her accent, and the young warrior did not care to share much of her past. It was not uncommon for mysterious knights to land upon their shores, tight-lipped and unfriendly; they had all done regrettable things during the wars. The woman accepted the toast of her fellow knights, nodding with only a brief hint of a smile before she pressed the cup to her lips.  

 

Brienne finished her ale and headed for the door. She was worried about Jaime and wanted to check in on her sleeping babes.

The night had been one of those lovely early spring evenings, a crisp chill in the air that had the scent of winter, but there was an earthy mud smell flavouring the wind, the promise of a coming spring.

 

“My lady!” Hyle Hunt came jostling up from behind her, “Shall I escort you? These woods are dangerous, no place for a woman to travel unaccompanied.” he offered his arm with a serious expression, but his eyes twinkled with a jest, his words slightly slurred and his face red from drink.

Brienne laughed and pushed him away.

They walked up the narrow path winding through the forest, pockets of silvery moonlight beaming down through the evergreen boughs.

Hunt was good company, sharing stories and joking along the way, improving her mood with each step.

Brienne was cheery from drink and found herself laughing easily. She was also clumsy, her foot had caught on the root of a tree, she fell down gracelessly, Hunt attempted to catch her, but he was unsteady and not up to the task, instead she had pulled him down with her.

She laughed unbridled, embarrassed by her tumble, her ass cold in the slush and mud.

“I’m sorry, that was terribly…” Brienne laughed and began to apologize, but her words were cut short. Hyle had a peculiar look upon his face.  He was unsmiling.

“Is something wrong?  Are you hurt?”

“In many ways, on both counts.  Yes.” Without warning he leaned forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, his mouth pressed against hers. She was startled out of her wits, his tongue had parted her lips, and that is when she hit him.

“You forget yourself!”  

The blow she had delivered was no woman’s slap.  His lip was split, and the first thread of blood dripped down his chin.

“Forgive me.  Too much drink.” He stammered.

“You are not forgiven.  Leave! You need to leave!”

There was fear in his eyes at the threat of him being cast out.

Brienne collected herself from the ground, slipping slightly in the half frozen melted snow.  

“Please don’t, you mustn’t ask me to leave.”

“My husband will kill you when I tell him what you’ve done. It is for your own sake to leave Tarth at once.”

“But the children!”

“Our children are no concern of yours.”

“But they are my lady.  One of them is.”

Brienne stopped her angry march at that. She spun around her eyes blazing, and heart pounding. “What?”

“Evan is mine.”

Brienne stood stupefied at the man’s words her eyes darted about the frozen ground, collecting her wits somewhat she asked, “What are you saying to me?”

Hunt looked miserable he wiped more blood from his chin and teetered, avoiding her accusing gaze, “The woman Alarah and I…”

“I should kill you where you stand.” Brienne unsheathed her blade, forgetting it was nothing but a dull tourney sword.  Hunt had forgotten as well.  Brienne took some pleasure in his wide-eyed frightened expression as she stepped towards him.

“I beg forgiveness! Please, don’t do this.  I care for you, always have!”

“Shut your mouth!” She hissed. “You need to go.” Brienne turned to leave him; she had no desire to look upon his face ever again.

“You promised me a place at your hearth and table always. After the battle at the Twins.  You vowed that I would always be welcomed at Evanfall Hall.  I should have…” He had enough sense to stop there.

Brienne had to end this madness tonight.  

She turned back towards Hunt, pushing him down and knocking him into the snow.

“I do not make vows lightly, and for that, and only that you may stay.  If you ever utter a word to Jaime about tonight, or what you have revealed.  I will slit your throat.  This I swear.”

Hunt did not look up at her, he nodded. “Aye.”

Brienne returned to Evanfall Hall alone, she felt sickened by what Hunt had revealed to her. She resolved that it did not matter what he said, Evan was hers and Jaimes, and they loved him dearly.  She didn’t doubt that Jaime would feel differently about Evan, but she was certain he would have killed Hunt if he knew the truth.  

She did not see Hyle Hunt for three days after he had spilled his secret.  When he did return his lip had healed, with only the remnants of a faint cut.  The children were ecstatic to see him again, his closeness to them becoming painfully obvious. He spoke little, and their eyes never met for weeks.  With the passing years their demeanor returned to as it had been before that night on the forest path.  And if the man had enough sense in his head, he too would die with their shared secret never spilling from his lips.

 

“My lady...” Torgys pulled her from her thoughts.

“A ship!” Dustin yelled.  “Oy!” He screamed to the vessel in the distance.

“Too far, it’s too far!” Brienne jumped up, she unsheathed Oathkeeper and waved it wildly in the air, hoping the sunlight would catch its blade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well?


	8. Cotter Tate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grisly tale, and finally word of Brienne.

The man had spent one-hundred days adrift in his rowboat, one live man and the remains of another, the bones of the corpse white and stark against the grisly mess that had been made of his flesh.  Sea birds squawked above and pools of flies danced around the boat, drawing the fisher-folk to its landing place.  ‘Cotter Tate had ate his mates.’ Was the ghoulish rhyme the people had adopted, but prior to his doomed boat ride he had been a knight of the Sapphire Isle.  He was an apt warrior and goodly man who hailed from Tyrosh.  

Jaime had offered a reward of five-hundred thousand golden dragons for the whereabouts of Brienne.  Word had spread quickly of the foolish Lannister lord who promised a small fortune to the soul who could produce his wife.  There had been many false hopes presented to him in the early days, too many heartbreaks of what he had hoped was news of Brienne quickly dissolved into bitter ash.  The promise of his blade to the throat of liars quickly diminished the numbers of false reports.

The story of a shipwrecked survivor washing ashore in the southern tip of Tarth, had peaked his interest but Jaime tried to not let his hopes rise too high. He rode out the morning the letter had come, taking a handful of knights towards the small fishing village in the south. The family that greeted him was all too eager and happy to welcome him into their home.  Golden dragons dancing in their eyes.  When he ducked into their meagre dwelling he barely recognized the face of the man that lay in the small bed, fish broth being gingerly pressed to his lips.

Jaime’s memories of Cotter Tate had been few, but what he did remember was a large brown face, dark eyes, burly whiskers and a booming voice that was quick to jest, and a man that could out drink most.

The man Jaime remembered was gone, and instead before him was was an emaciated husk, his cheeks sunken, eyes yellow, cracked lips and peeling skin, half mad from the journey.

His heart felt as though it stopped in his chest, finally he would know something of Brienne’s fate.

“What happened?”

Tate recounted the tale of the fast moving storm, the sinking ship of how the men had drawn straws, five men had been in that boat, the first to perish had killed himself in a mix of despair and honour, offering himself to his comrades as sustenance. Another weakened himself drinking the water of the sea, he lasted the day.  The other two Cotter would not speak of, Jaime suspected he may have killed them by the way he cast his eyes downwards, his hollow face becoming sadder yet.

Jaime was transfixed by the man’s gruesome tale and could feel his heart spiralling down into a dark place the longer he continued with no word of Brienne.

“She was a good woman my lord. She couldn’t have known.”

“Where is my wife?” Jaime’s voice broke, dreading the man's answer.

Cotter licked his cracked lips and whispered, “Lady Lannister stayed, had refused to partake in drawing of the straws.  I’m afraid; she rests at the bottom of the sea…”

 

If the man had said more Jaime did not hear it.  He did not hear anything. He rose grim faced, pushed past the small folk who had gathered in and around the small dwelling, he pushed through his knights. He jumped on his horse and rode until he found a private place in the solace of the trees, with blurry vision Jaime knelt into the rocky ground and roared with grief. He screamed until his throat constricted and could make no more sound.

_My light has gone out, what am I without my light?_

There was no grave to stand over, he was robbed of that.  There was no one to challenge to avenge her death; he was robbed of that too.  How he would have loved to draw blood, to lose himself in a violence of some kind, but this grief was aimless, there was no one to blame, but himself and _her_.

 _Daenerys Targaryen._ _She had come with her demands and threats, she had pushed Brienne to go to sea in search of an invisible foe.  She will answer! She will pay!  I will gladly stick my blade through her heart like I did with her wretched mad father._ _I have the knights, I could call them…_

 _No. Think of the children._ It was Brienne’s voice that spoke to him.

It was like a sharp slap startling him out of his grief. She would not have wanted him to abandon them for some doomed petty revenge. Giselda and Evan.  He had grown without a mother, they would need him now.  

He sat there beneath the trees, not knowing for how long, but it grew darker and colder, and finally some brave soul had the courage to come searching for him. The voice called his name, it echoed dully throughout the woods.

Jaime gathered himself, red-eyed with grief he forced himself to walk towards the voice calling his name.

 _The children. The children. The children._  He thought, with each heavy footfall.

When he stepped into the clearing the sun had long past set, and everything looked as though it was draped in a veil of blue, two of his men stood with lantern in hand his horse beside them.  They met his gaze, their faces long with saddened eyes.  They had loved her too.

He was thankful to have had the long ride back to Evanfall Hall to think on what he was to say to the young ones come morning.  He had never felt so sympathetic towards Tywin Lannister in all his life.

When they returned to the gates of the castle it was late and most of the torches had been put out. One lone figure stood to greet them. Hyle Hunt was where he had been all those many years ago when he had first laid eyes on the man. Hunt moved towards them, lips parted to ask of the news of lady Brienne. Jaime’s face gave him his answer.  Hunt shut his lips and let them pass in silence.

Feeling exhaustion in his bones Jaime climbed the stairs to their bedchamber, he crawled upon the thinly feathered mattress, firmer than most, he and Brienne had spent so spent many nights in army camps upon bed rolls en route to one battle or another.  The firm mattress had suited them both. Still clothed he laid flat on his stomach his fingers caressing the space she should be in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	9. Bruised Plum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne startled awake, a filthy smelling hand clamped over her mouth. A gravelly voice whispered in her ear. 
> 
> “Shh, hush lovely; I’ll make you feel real good.”

The three stranded knights grinned like fools, overjoyed for their fortunate turn.  The ship had spotted them; they would be saved from a watery doom.

“Dustin, take my sword.”          

“My lady?” Dustin turned to her in shock.

“We do not know if they are friend or foe.  I would rather they know little of us as well.  A woman with a valaryian blade would raise suspicion.”        

Dustin gave his blade to Brienne, and he took hers.  She was glad that its fate was not to lie on the ocean floor, but hated to let it out of her grip.

“Well who the hell am I with a valaryian blade?” Dustin asked.

They were forced to cease their conversation as the boat pulled in closer and lowered a roped ladder to the castaways. They pulled themselves up, not knowing who would greet them at the end of their climb.

“And who might you fellas be? Trapped by that storm were ya?” The man Brienne supposed was the ship's captain was weathered looking, as were his crew.

“Aye, that storm was a fierce one the hull took damage and there were not enough boats for us all. We were the lucky ones to draw the short straws; we are in your debt.  Thank-you”. Dustin said taking the lead.

Brienne stayed mute.

“Well let’s get you dry and fed, I’m sure you’re hungry, we’ll hear more of your tale over dinner.”

They ducked down below the deck, despite the warmth of the cabin Brienne shivered in her wet clothes.  Her stomach broiled with hunger, they ate the fish stew and bread heartedly.  A decanter of warmed wine and water was set before them, Brienne reached for the water and drank it gratefully. Dustin made up a story about how they were transporting goods from Kingslanding to Pentos, he told the best kind of lies, ones flavoured with truths.  She chewed her bread, and lowered her eyes, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. She could feel herself nodding out as she ate. Dustin and Torgys looked as though they were ready to pass out in their bowls as well.

Thankfully the captain recognized their fatigue, “You may bunk anywhere in this part of the ship, plenty of fresh hay to sleep on. We’ll land in a couple of days most like.  If the weather stays with us.”

Brienne watched with envy as Dustin and Torgys pulled off their wet tunics.  She was experienced in being the lone woman among men, but lacked the desired privacy of a tent or even the shelter of the woods to undress. It did not matter, despite her shivering, exhaustion won out and Brienne collapsed into a musty pile of hay too tired to think of the vermin that may live within.

 

_“Brienne my love.” Jaime woke her with a sweet kiss upon her lips._

_She squinted awake, the sun illuminated his hair, making him glow.  He was so achingly beautiful, it physically hurt. She smiled and caressed the side of his face, running her fingers through his locks.  They were home, under a tree at Tarth, she must have fallen asleep._

_He played at her laces, untying the front.  She didn’t stop him, enjoying the brush of his knuckles against her skin.  His lips met hers again, soft and tender, she wanted to cry she was so happy._

 

_Something was wrong…_

         

Brienne startled awake, a filthy smelling hand clamped over her mouth. A gravelly voice whispered in her ear.  

“Shh, hush lovely; I’ll make you feel real good.” He bit her ear and reached for her groin, Brienne grabbed the offensive hand and promptly broke several digits.

The man screamed in agony, his cries and curses waking the crew.

Dustin came rushing to Brienne’s side, his hands ready on the hilt of Oathkeeper.  Brienne moved to her feet and held out her hand for him to steady his attack, an old habit of leadership.

“What the bloody hell is going on down here?”  The captain yelled. “Basley why are you howling like a damned cat in heat?”

“That big dumb bitch broke my fingers! Was only going to give her a feel.  These two weren’t with her, so figured whats the harm?”  The unpleasant man cried. “Ugly as she is thought she’d appreciate a little attention.”

Dustin moved forward drawing his sword… her sword. The sheen of the marvelous blade glinted even in the dull candlelight of the cabin. Torgys appeared at his side, ready to defend her honour.

“Hold on! Hold on! No need for violence! We’ve been at sea for a while my lady. Your presence has their stupid lustful heads filled with indecencies. I’m sorry, won’t happen again.”

Brienne nodded, accepting the captain’s apologies.  She was anxious for the night to be over and without bloodshed.

“Good.  Now, any more disturbances and I throw your asses overboard!” The captain glared at his men.

Brienne lay back in her pile of hay, her nerves frayed and guard up.

“I’ll take first watch,” Torgys offered.

“It was foolish of us not to have done so from the onset.” Brienne said. Fatigued she tried to settle and rest, she yearned to be back on land, she needed to get word back home.  She closed her eyes not believing she could sleep, but sleep she did.

“Wake my lady.” Torgys whispered in the dark.     

“What is it?”

“Its Dustin.  He went to relieve himself some time ago, and has yet to return.”

“We should look for him.”

The hour was late; the stars were shining brightly, casting a pale light onto the planks of the deck. They searched for Dustin, the knight was nowhere to be found, and not a soul could be seen or heard.  Brienne felt a deep sense of foreboding. Torgys exchanged a concerned glance with her, his expression stating his own worry.

They moved to the far side of the ship towards the captain’s cabin.  From within she could hear the whispers of men.

“Would you look at that?”  An impressed whistle escaping his lips, “valaryian steel, this’ll be worth a fortune.” Brienne’s teeth was set on edge, she could feel her pulse quickening, and anger rising in her throat. She pushed open the door, she gasped at the sight of Dustin, his body lay sprawled across the table, his throat slit, blood pooled around his face.  

Unsheathing their blades in unison Brienne and Torgys approached the captain and his men.  There were six in total, they would be easy work.

“I’m sorry my lady.” Torgys said as he smashed her in the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. As she fell, Torgys disarmed her, and the captains men were on her like wolves.  Holding her down and binding her arms and legs.  

Bound, bleary eyed and bleeding she asked him, “Why?”

“I will never be a slave again. These pirates have promised to leave me at port.  I will send word to your husband that you are alive, he may find you yet.”

Brienne stuttered, she could not form words, the betrayal was baffling.

“She is dangerous, do not hold her lightly.” Torgys said as the men picked her up, forcing her to her feet.

“Forgive me my lady.” Torgys said, something resembling genuine regret buried deep in his eyes.

Again there were no words, her heart mourned for the man she had thought she knew.

The disgusting cretin named Basely who had molested her earlier caressed the side of her cheek.  Brienne funnelling all her anger and frustration smashed her head into the man’s face delighting in the sound of his nose breaking. His comrades hooted and hollered, laughing as he screeched in pain.

Her knees were kicked from behind, bound as she was she was unable to block her fall.  She crashed forward, slamming her head against the cabins walls.

“You promised not to harm her!” Torgys yelled.

Brienne dizzy and near unconsciousness attempted to pull herself up.

“Take her below with the others; try not to harm her further.  No one wants to buy a bruised plum you idiots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. I'm ready for it... Gah. I know. I thought I liked him too!


	10. Uncle Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Uncle Tyrion

It had been eight long years since he had last laid eyes on his brother, Jaime helped Tyrion down from his horse, like he had since they were boys, and as they embraced it seemed as though no time had passed at all.  Letting him go Tyrion turned to greet the children.

“Well these two must be my little nephew and niece!” Tyrion exclaimed happily as he clapped his hands together. “Gods she looks like Cersei.” He remarked staring at Giselda.

“Who?” Giselda asked.  Both children were standing at attention in the yard, a formal gathering and greeting for the Hand of the Queen, who also happened to be the uncle they had never met.

Tyrion looked at Jamie with a raised eyebrow.

Jaime grinned with a tight lip and motioned them inwards towards the castle.

 

They supped and throughout the meal Tyrion bantered with the children, eliciting happy giggles. When they finished he gave each of them a gift, a book of songs for Giselda, and a beautifully engraved blade for Evan.  Jaime smiled as he observed his children say their ‘thank-yous’, both pouting and watching each other’s gifts with envy.

By the end of their dinner he had won them over, Giselda kissed him on the cheek, and Evan gave him a hug, as they were reluctantly pulled away by their septa to ready for bed.

The dishes were cleared and more wine was brought forth. Tyrion requested warmed cider instead. His brother was happiest when he chattered, and did not let the silence of the room sit too long.

“They are lovely children brother, you should be proud.”

“I am.  How is your Benjen?” Jaime asked about the only child he shared with Sansa.

“In truth I’m not entirely sure.”

Jaime was surprised, “Why is that?”

“I rarely get to make the trek back to Casterly Rock, Sansa sends letters but they are very formal and to the point. She writes that he is healthy and happy. That is all.”

 

It saddened Jaime that his brother seemed to be in a loveless marriage, but it was not uncommon, more common than not for noble marriages he reflected.  What he and Brienne had was a rare and beautiful exception.

“How have you been fairing brother? I was sorry to hear about Lady Brienne. She was a formidable woman.  I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Jaime drank his wine, his eyes unmoving from the fire.  “Every morning I go to the rookery in hopes of a letter.  Then I go down to the beach, and I stare out over those waters.” He closed his eyes. “Sometimes I imagine her walking up the beach, sword on hip, cloak blowing behind her in the wind, like a legend turned flesh.”

Tyrion remained silent. Seeming to know he needed to speak.  No one else had the courage to utter her name in his presence.

“When I come back I visit the yards, beat the snot out of a few men, retire for the evening, and do it all again the next day.”  He took another drink,”When Cersei died it was so very different.  There was sadness, and I grieved, but there was also... relief.”

“She was a miserable cunt.” Tyrion offered.

Jaime chuckled. “She had her moments.”

“Ones you only knew my brother.”

Jaime cleared his throat. 

_That was fair._

“You’ve never told the children anything of her? You wouldn’t have to share it all you know.”

“No I suppose they would learn it all eventually, whether I willed it or not. Why are you here Tyrion?” Jaime asked eager to change the course of the conversation.

“To console you.”

Jaime waited for the real intent of his visit. After a brief pause Tyrion asked, “Was it true? About Aerys.”

“Was what true?”

“That you killed him because he was going to set fire to the capital?”

“I would have told you my reasons decades ago, if only you had asked.  Everyone assumed the worse.  So I let them believe it.”

“Was he always mad?”

“As long as I knew him, but those before me that knew him in his youth said he was altogether different, a good, kind and generous King. Why are you asking me all of this?  You know the histories better than I.”

Tyrion sighed, biting his lip and then finally said, “She’s getting worse.” His words felt like a cold stab to the guts.

“The Queen?” Jaime asked, knowing the conversation they were about to have tread into the realm of treason.

“I’m afraid so.  She’s becoming more paranoid with each passing day.  Convinced there are threats all around her.  Do you have any idea how concerned I was when she came to visit you here?  She flutters off on her dragon visiting other ‘threats’, nearly undoing all the work I’ve managed to drum up. No easy task, I assure you. Seven years of hard earned peace, a fragile one threatened because of unfounded paranoia.”

“Is Stannis a real threat?” Jaime wanted to know the truth, but wasn’t sure he was prepared for it.

“There are rumours of this red woman and Stannis gathering forces in the east, but that could mean little, to cross the ocean with an army? To challenge a ruler with not one... but two dragons?  He’d be an idiot to try it.”

Jaime felt a small shred of consolation that the reason for Brienne’s leaving was not a complete fabrication.

“She sees you as a threat, more so than Stannis.”

“Me?” Jaime was genuinely amazed.  They had never challenged her reign.  They had been perfectly content staying out of all of Westeros political intrigues.

“You have your Sapphire Knights in nearly every major house in Westeros. You killed her father. How could you think that you wouldn’t be perceived as a potential threat?”

“They aren’t _our_ knights once they leave here. It is only if there is a threat to Tarth that they are called.”

“Spies. Seeds of discord planted in every house.  That is how she sees it. If I were you I’d call your knights home brother.  I sincerely believe she plans to burn your house into ruins.”

“So call the knights back only to be burned to a bloody crisp?” Jaime scoffed.

“There may be a better way.”

Tyrion was clever, the cleverest person in all the Queendom Jaime surmised.  Disturbed as he was by what his brother had shared with him about the Queen, his interest was also piqued.

“How would you feel donning the white cloak again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnn...


	11. For the Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion shares his plans with Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This be thick with plot!

“That is a cruel joke.” Jaime glared at his brother, dumbfounded by his proposition that he be a member of the Queensguard.

“Hear me out.”

“I won’t.”

“Please,” Tyrion held up his hand, a gesture that pleaded for him to listen. “You were never dismissed from the Kingsguard.  The vows you made are meant for you to serve for life, your marriage was illegitimate, your children…”

“If you are trying to convince me to be player in this game of yours, your arguments leave much to be desired.”

“Jaime, Queen Daenerys is coming for you. Let us make it on our terms.  Would you rather your children be corpses or hostages?”

Jamie’s blood turned cold at his brothers words.

“She means to dissolve your house, let it not be through violence.  With you on the Queensguard, you will have been neutralized.  No house, no lord to call the knights. No threat.” He held out his hands as an illustration of how simple it was.

“What house do you propose hold my children?” Jaime snarled.

“Mine.  We’ll send them to the Rock, they will be with family.  They will be well taken care of, Sansa is a good woman.”

Jaime’s bitter laugh caught in his throat.

“And what if I decide I would rather call my knights? Storm Daenerys' gates and take her head instead? What if that idea vastly appealed to me more?”

“We both know how that would end.” Tyrion said solemnly.

Jaime hurled his glass against the wall, wine splattered across Tyrion’s face, the shards crashed and flew like sparks, scattering across the floor.

Jaime rose from his chair; his blood that had felt cold was now boiling.  He peered out the window, his eyes always drawn towards the east.  The moon was climbing higher, bright and almost full.  Countless stars flickered above.  It was another beautiful night on the isle of Tarth.  Perhaps one of the last few he would see again.  This had been her home, she may not be returning, but he would not see it destroyed. The children... it could still be theirs one day.

“What will happen to Evanfall Hall if we leave?”

“I will claim it as your brother, until Evan comes of age, then I will return your holdings to him.”

“You have already taken one home from me brother.”

“I promise you, that will not happen again.”

“What makes you certain Daenerys...”

“Queen Daenerys.”

“What makes you certain _Queen_ Daenerys, will take me back as a member of her guard? She does not seem fond of me.”

“She still trusts my advice. I will make her see that this is for the best. So you agree?  This is the best course of action?”

Jaime hated the plan, hated the thought of returning to Kingslanding, mourned the thought of being separated from his son and daughter, but could see no better option. Serving as a knight of the Queensguard was a small sacrifice, one he was willing to make if it ensured the lives of his children.

“When do you propose we move?”

“The sooner the better.  I will go back to Kingslanding, plant the seeds, and tend the garden. I will send word when you should come. In the meantime, ready the children for the trip to Casterly Rock.  Leave your house to someone you trust.”

Jaime returned to his chair, his legs suddenly feeling weak. _Dalton,_ Jaime thought, _he will serve as Castellon. Their septa and Hyle Hunt will go with the children to the Rock.  They are good to them, and they should have familiar people there._

“Jaime I am truly sorry,” Tyrion moved from his chair and made his way to his brothers’ side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“There is one fatal flaw in this scheme of yours.” Jaime said quietly.

“Oh?”

“What do we do when she gives into her madness and decides to end us all anyway?”

“Why do you think I want you on the Queensguard?”

  
  
After Tyrion retired for the evening, Jaime made the long miserable climb to his bed chambers. It had become the most trying part of his day.   

That night he dreamed of her again…

 

_She was naked in the water walking towards him, her body pale against the dark ocean. Swells of waves crashed against her long legs and back. A weapon gripped in her hand, but instead of her sword she carried an arakh, the tip dripping with fresh blood._

_Brienne…_

_She spoke, but her lips did not move._

_You have lost our home._

_You have lost our children._

_And you have lost me._

_She turned her back to him, to return to the water._

_No, please.  I will set it right, I will set it right. Don’t leave me again, come back! He wanted to run after her, but his feet would not move._

_She turned back, her eyes sad; he wanted to cry... she was coming back! As she glided in closer she raised her arakh and swiftly severed his remaining hand._

 

Jaime jumped straight up in his bed gasping as his breath caught in his throat, his heart thumping beneath his sweat covered chest. He flexed the fingers of his left hand and wiped away the tears that had come in his sleep. There was a dull horrible ache inside of him.

Unable and not wanting to slumber further after his unsettling dream Jaime trudged down the stairs, into the courtyard and across to the rookery. As he pushed opened the doors, a fierce smell of bird shit greeted him.  The man who tended to the birds shook his head ‘no’, as he did every morning.

Jaime continued in his daily routine, making the long trek down to the water’s edge. The wind thrashing his hair wildly and causing the fabric of his tunic to snap, he stood in the sand and stared out at the dark morning water, a vast ocean of nothingness.  He looked down each side of the beach and whispered in defeat… “I’m done.”

It was in that moment he resolved he could do it.  If it came to it, he could kill the Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you feel the build?


	12. Cousins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children arrive at Casterly Rock.

“Mother?” Benjen looked up at her with his blue eyes.

“Yes Benny?”

“Those are my cousins?”

Sansa ran her fingers through her son’s red hair, attempting to smooth it back into a neat place. “They will be here to keep you company, and they will be staying with us for some time, so let us give them a nice welcome.”  Sansa looked on at the twins as they were brought forth, one dark and the other light.  Beautiful little children with such sad faces.  Sansa’s heart went out to them; she too had been a child far away from home once.

“Greetings my lady,” Their septa Jayne curtsied, an older woman with a kindly face, in some ways she reminded her of her Septa Mordane from Winterfell.

“My Lady, I am steward to the children.”

“Ser Hyle? I believe?”

“Aye,”

“My husband has written of you. Welcome to Casterly Rock,”

Sansa bent down to greet the children. “Hello, I am Lady Sansa and this is my son Benjen.  Say hello Benny,”

Benjen mumbled an unsure hello.

Evan and Giselda returned his greeting politely.

“Let us settle, and we’ll have a little meal.” Sansa nodded for the servants to attend to their new guests.”

“Gods, I thought Evenfall Hall was grand,” Hyle said his eyes wide with amazement as they made their way into the first great hall.  His exclamation was an indication of his breeding.

“Yes it is grand.” She sometimes forgot about the extravagance in which she lived.  The gilded surroundings had become commonplace over the years, at one time the castle had dazzled her eyes too.

The dinner was set out before them, roast boar, figs, carrots, and oranges.  The children sat with their heads down and ate little, only little Benjen seemed to be in good spirits.  Hyle was asking him questions about their home and the lands around them, what he liked to do for fun.

“I like to ride, and play with swords, and I like to make things, I made this! He held up the little dog he had whittled. I like fishing too.”

“Fishing would be fun now wouldn’t it children?” Hyle looked to Giselda and Evan.  The boy nodded, a whisper of a smile finding his face.  Giselda kept her head down, her hands folded in her lap.

“Are you not hungry? Sansa asked.

“No.” Giselda said, not looking up.

Sansa motioned for a servant to come take the girl’s plate and asked for the deserts.

A lemon cake was placed in front of her. “Perhaps this will help you find your appetite. They are my favourite.”

Giselda eyed the cake, lifted her fork and dug in delivering a generous portion to her mouth.

 _It is a start_ , Sansa thought.

“Perhaps later you can take the children for a walk Ser Hyle, to explore the grounds; there are lots of fun places to visit.”

Benjen piped up, “There are the woods, and some caves I can show you.  There are lions, bears, and dragons, and a witch.”

Evan looked concerned, while Giselda looked up from her cake with interest.

Sansa laughed, “Hush, you’ll scare your new friends. There are none of those things around here, I promise you.  Ser Hyle do keep an eye on them though.”  

“Of course my lady.” Hyle nodded.

“Perhaps we shall change into something more appropriate for a walk outside?”  Septa Jayne asked.

“Please show them to their rooms, and then we’ll meet in outer courtyard when they are ready,”

Septa Jayne followed the servant out of the dining hall, both children tailing behind.

“Can I go with them mother?” Benjen asked.  He was so excited and happy to have other young ones his age to play with.  Sansa nodded and her son jogged to catch up to them.

 

She was glad to have a moment alone with Hyle Hunt; she wanted to know more details about Lady Brienne.  They walked towards the courtyards, the blossoms of the fruit trees in full bloom, petals wafting through the air like snow.

“I have a hard time believing she’s really gone.  To be taken on a sea voyage…”

Hyle looked down and nodded. “I can’t believe it either.  I don’t know if I can ever believe it.”

“What do you say that?”

Hyle tightened his hand into a fist, “She just couldn’t have gone that way, not the kind of woman she was.”

“I see.  But she is gone. Death comes for us all, for all those we love, we cannot choose how or when, but we can be comforted that we are yet living, able to enjoy what we have of our lives, and to spend it with those still here,”

“If you can feel this way my lady, I will do my best to try as well.” Hyle smiled sadly, and his eyes turned sombre.

His sadness for Brienne’s death seemed very deep indeed.

“How is Jaime Lannister coping?”

“As any husband married to a woman like her can be expected to.”

“So, not well?”

“Well enough.  He had several years with her, he had his time.” There was a hint of bitterness to his words.

 _Yes, there is much more to this man and his feeling for Lady Brienne_. Sansa thought.

She wondered how far she dared push the topic when the laughter of Benjen and Evan echoed towards them, their little voices amplified by the stone archways. Giselda trailed behind, her beautiful silken dress traded in for a tunic, breeches and a long coat, a wooden sword holstered to her hip.  The girl reminded her so much of Arya in that moment. Sansa smiled sadly thinking of her long missing little sister. The old pain of not knowing what happened to her still there in her heart.

“Mother!” Benjen wrapped his arms around her skirts as he collided in to her at full speed, “Can I show them the caves?”

“If Ser Hyle agrees,”

“Would love to little lord!” He grinned. “Provided Lady Giselda protects us from those lions and bears you spoke of!”

Giselda gave a small smile at that, placing her hand at the hilt of her little sword.

The children ran away towards the woods, Hyle trailing behind, trying to keep pace.

Sansa laughed at their play, happy to see their spirits much improved from when they had arrived.

“Don’t have them out too long!” Septa Jayne called after them.  She huffed in frustration not sure if they heard her. “I warned Lady Brienne that she allowed that girl to be too rough, and I’m afraid it may be woefully too late to turn her into a proper lady.”

“Let her be who she is meant to be, no sense in trying to change the course of a river.” Sansa said.

“That is the same thing Lady Brienne said to me,” the woman sighed, “rest her soul, good woman she was.”

“I sometimes wish my mother and father had encouraged me to learn at swords.”

“Oh I don’t know my lady, there is something to be said for knowing what a lady must, besides it looks as though you’ve done fine for yourself, and you seem a right proper lady if I may say so.”

Sansa smiled at the woman compliments. “Thank you.  Why don’t you stay here and enjoy the gardens?  I’m afraid there is something I must attend to.”

The septa nodded, wrung her hands and said, “I hope he doesn’t’ take them through any mud, or allow their clothes to catch on a branch, it’s me who gets to mend, not him.”

 

Sansa left the gardens and made her way down to the armoury grounds, the clanking of steel being forged, and the smell of the fires greeting her as she entered the small dwelling where Gendry worked.  

“Good morning Lady Sansa,” Gendry stopped mid strike, removed the blade and set it in the stone trough of water, a sharp hiss rose as the blade was set to cool.

“The twins have arrived.” She said as she looked around for prying ears and eyes.

“It will be good for Benny to have little friends,” Gendry took off his leather gloves and removed his apron.

“Yes I agree.  I’m glad they are here. I intend to treat them as my own.”

“Then they are very lucky indeed, for I know no finer woman,” Gendry wrapped his muscular arm around her waist, placing his other hand under her chin and drew her in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needed to go here. More on Jaime and Brienne next. Hang in there kids.


	13. The Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A horrible journey east continues...

The smell that assaulted her as she was dragged into the lower holds of the ship was like a sharp slap to the face.  There were dozens of men squinting against her captor’s lantern light like they were staring at the blaze of the sun.  They sat on straw like animals, roped and chained in place, forced to squat in their own filth.

“Please! I am from a wealthy house.  They will gladly pay for my return!”

“Why do they always say the same thing?  All these wretches are nobility too don’t you know?” The men laughed gruffly as one of them tied the binds of her hands to a pole.

She was about to scream Lannister, when a gag was shoved in her mouth, and a bandage tied around her face.

The man tripped her legs out from under, as she splattered down onto the filthy floor, the fish stew she had ate earlier broiled up in her stomach, she shut her eyes tightly and willed the sensation away. Reeling with nausea, Jaime’s voice came to mind...

_Brienne the Dragonslayer, choked to death on vomited fish stew… now that would be a terrible verse._

Despite the horror of her situation the thought of his words made her laugh, it was muffled by the gag in her mouth.  Her captor mistook the noise for cries.     

“Don’t bother luv, won’t do you any good.”

They climbed the short wooden ladder and closed the hatch.

The only thing that remained was the darkness, and the smell.

Brienne leaned her forehead against the pole, attempting to find a comfortable resting place. In time she was able to close her eyes and succumb to a welcome and needed sleep.

 

Time passed, minutes, hours, perhaps days…

Eventually when they did remove her gag, she had no desire to talk, her mouth dry and jaw sore. Tiny shafts of daylight seeped through the crevices of the planks and hatches, the others with her spoke amongst themselves in various dialects, men and women, Brienne could not make out a word.

Twice a day they were given enough food to sustain them, a horrid swill of stew, and hard stale bread.  The water was the most welcomed and she drank as much as she could. Every day she held her bladder and bowels until they were painfully full.  When she could hold it no more she shut her eyes and let it go, the aching relief dissolving into embarrassment for what she had done. In time the embarrassment faded, and the act became just another part of her day.

They ate while sitting in their own waste, irregularly a man would come down and throw buckets of water at them, it did little but dampen her clothes, the straw, and the wooden planks she sat upon.

She thought of Jaime, he had been a prisoner once, she thought of the hell he had lived through, for nearly a year.  A thought that once saddened her, now fed her with hope.  He had lived through his hell, she could live through hers.

 

_“Mommy,”_

_“Yes love?”_

_“When I am bigger like you, will you teach me swords?”_

_“I could.  Your father could too.”_

_“No I want you.”_

_“Why me?”_

_“Because you’re better at it.”_

_She had laughed at that, and Jaime had smiled._

_Giselda touched her face, the side unmarred by scars._

_“You’re pretty mommy.”_

 

The memory made her weep.

 

Time stretched on as she was held prisoner in the wretched ship, Brienne sustained herself on happy memories of her family, her home at Tarth, and the love she shared with Jaime.  She was fortunate to have happy memories to dwell on.  It would keep her.  It would see her through this.

 

The hatch opened, and the sun seared through, the brightness caused her eyes and head to ache. The slaves were forced up.  Her legs felt weak from misuse.  On the deck they were doused with water.  It was startling, and unexpected, she squinted unable to adjust to the white brightness of the day.  Holding her hand over her eyes she peered out over the bow of the ship, beyond it she saw busy docks, more ships, and a vast unknown city surrounded by walls.

She was pulled along with the others, mostly men, and a few women, all tied in a row, none resisted for threat of the whip.  One of the slavers grabbed the rope abruptly, halting their forced walk, he raised his blade in the air, and hacked downwards at the rope severing the place right before the bound hands of a young girl, he laughed enjoying her fear as she screamed. Brienne glared at him, her fingers itching for her own blade

My sword… she wanted to cry thinking of how she had lost Oathkeeper.

 

The men and women slaves were separated each lead into separate tents to prepare them for the blocks.

Inside there were wooden tubs of water, brushes and soap laid out on coarsely woven mats. The women ahead of her on the line had their clothes cut away; they stood naked, meagrely attempting to cover themselves with their bound hands.

When the woman came to her, small knife in hand ready to slice away her clothing she said quietly, “I am a Lannister.” If the woman understood her she made not a word, never halting from her duties, she cut into her clothing, tearing it away,“I am a Lannister!” Brienne said louder, but it made no difference.  The woman nodded her head for the others to wash her.  Brienne stared at her coat, the one Jaime had given her, it lay in shreds, discarded like refuse.

Brienne did her best to cover herself like the others, as the water was poured over her, and she was scrubbed with the rough bristled brushes, her skin raw and red.  She was doused once more and the line was  jolted along into the tent of the auction block.

Inside the auction tent she recognized some of the men from the ship standing on raised platforms, they looked naked and terrified.  The women with her were crying, except for one, a slender dark haired woman with ice in her eyes. Brienne admired her courage and vowed she would not cry.

The men were all sold and the crowd of buyers thinned.  The women were pulled forward; one by one they were taken to the platform. The remaining buyers looked on lazily as the new goods from the ships were brought in.  A young woman was placed first on the block, she was fair to look on, and Brienne surmised she would be lovelier still with a proper bath and meal. The men yelled out what Brienne supposed were bids, it went on for minutes, and when the highest bid came in the fat victor clapped his hands together pleased with his purchase.  The dark haired woman was next; her face expressionless, she could have been appraising goods at market for the effect the scene seemed to have on her.  The bidding was not as fervent, and soon enough she was pulled away and replaced with another woman.  It became apparent that the women had been placed in order of attractiveness, these women were to be pleasure slaves and whore, Brienne was the last in line.

The moment she had been dreading had come, as she climbed the block she kept her head down and bit her lip. _I will not cry… I will not cry..._

There was an abrasive trickle of laughter from the men, followed by a few shouts and jeers.  The auctioneer answered back, his words elicited more laughter.  Brienne was thankful she could not understand their banter.

Brienne gulped refusing to look at them, she felt exposed and feeble. Her long arms clung across her body in an attempt to cover herself as best she could.

When the laughter silenced, a single bid came in, Brienne hazard a glance, the man who had made the bid  had long greasy hair pulled back and his eyes were cruel, he placed his bid with the wave of his hand, almost as if he was swatting away a fly. No one challenged him, anxious to have this hellish experience through Brienne was about to be pulled off the block when suddenly there was a shout from the back.

 

A tall moustached man, with a scar across his face marched up slowly. He motioned for them to bring her down so he could inspect her closer. She was yanked down and brought before him, he grabbed her face, tilting it to the side examining her scarred cheek, his eyes drifted down to her neck where the old scars of the bear claws had been embedded into her flesh.  The man grinned and named a price.  By the response of the other buyers, it was a price they refused to better.

 

The moustached man took off his own thin purple cloak and draped it around her shoulders; he tossed a purse of coin at the auctioneer and pulled her away.

  
The auction was closed for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Brienne, I do!


	14. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime says good-bye to his children, and boards a boat heading to King's Landing.

“You will be going to see where I grew up as a boy.  Your cousin Benjen will be there to play with.”

“I don’t care about a stupid cousin!” Giselda raged. “I don’t want to go!”

Evan cried quietly, making gulping noises as he tried to swallow his own tears.

Jaime looked to the sky, not wanting to show any emotion in front of his children.

“No more of this fuss; I will buy you a pony, beautiful one with golden hair like yours.”  He pleaded with her as she looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Can I have a horse too?” Evan asked.

“Yes, of course.” He wrapped his arms around both of them, kissing them on top of their heads. “Hunt!” He called for Hyle, his voice cracking slightly.  “Take them aboard. Send a letter when you’ve reach the mainland.  I will do my best to visit as soon as I am able.”

He squeezed them hard one last time and then he let them go.

The boat with his children sailed away.  As he watched it glide towards the west he felt his heart growing darker.

In a few days he would leave for Kings Landing.  Tyrion had sent a raven that he should prepare to return, Daenerys would accept him back into her guard but he best not delay. Her words had been, ‘ _Vows are important’._

 

He readied himself for the dreaded trip back to Kings Landing, leaving Evanfall Hall in Dalton’s care.  A handful of knights would stay on; the majority were sent away to houses that were in need of them.  They were not to take in any more in his absence. The majority of the servants were dismissed, with only a few remaining to care for the castle, he was adamant that the rookery be maintained as well, day and night, there was still a small hope alive in his breast that he may yet receive word of Brienne’s fate, foolish as it may be.

 

Alone in his empty bed chambers he grabbed the last thing he meant to take with him to the capital.  Nestled beneath the folds of a deep blue velvet cloth was his sword, the Sapphire Star, silver, shining and sharp.

“Brienne,” he whispered as he brushed his fingertips over the flat smooth surface of the blade. His memories drifting back to that sweet day in the caves of Casterly Rock when he had given it to her. Her beaming smile and shining eyes had cut right through him.  Sheathing his sword he rose to stand at the window, looking east one last time.

In the early hours of the morning he was greeted by several of the remaining knights, a few had requested to make the journey with him to the capital, but Jaime was determined to cut ties with his old life, it would be easier to carry on with whatever deeds became necessary of him, he wanted no reminders of his life at Tarth to hamper his resolve.  They stood at attention lining his path as he exited Evanfall Hall.  Good and honourable men, who genuinely respected him, the taint of ‘Kingslayer’ had somehow evaporated into the air during his time at Tarth. Brienne had done that for him.

 

He boarded the boat heading for Kings Landing alone, staring over the bow as it ploughed through the water, he refused to look behind where his home was vanishing in the distance.                                                         

 

As the small vessel pulled into the murky waters of blackwater rush, his old ghosts came swimming back in full force.  The Red Keep loomed above him like a gigantic sore, its peaks clawing at the blue of the sky. He could scarcely remember a time when he had been proud to call it home.   _That golden boy had died long ago_.  What replaced him for many years after was a bitter, lustful and arrogant man, who in his one act of unselfishness had tainted his name for life. With Brienne everything had been so very different; she had made him worthy again.  He sighed as he wondered who he was now. _A Husk,_ he thought ruefully. _My ghosts are not revisiting me, I am the ghost returned._

 

At the gates he was barred immediate passage the guard on duty held up his hand and asked him to halt.

“What is your business here?”

Jaime looked behind his own shoulder, not certain the guard was speaking to him.

“You’re questioning me?”  He arched his eyebrow truly surprised.

“Yes pretty man, you think you can just stroll in here?”

“Like these others?” Jaime motioned to the multitude of people moving freely in and out of the gates.

“Well now you see ‘these others’ gots goods now don’t they?  She’s got bread, he’s got a basket of fish, that one over there is selling over-priced tapestries!”  The merchant carrying his woven goods turned to glare at the guard, displeased with the accusation. “It’s the truth!” He retorted ignoring the angry mumbles of the offended merchant.

“Look, no one gets in unless I know about it, by order of the Hand. These people are here every week to sell. I’ve never seen _you_ before.” The guard pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“I’m Jaime Lannister, brother of the Hand,” He said thoroughly annoyed he was being questioned by some common gate keep. He waved his golden hand at the man, to better illustrate his identity.

The cretin’s eyes went large with realization.

 _Finally!_ Jaime thought.  

“Is your wife with you?  The Dragonslayer?” The man looked behind Jaime, hopeful to spy Brienne.

“No.  She’s dead.”  It was the first time he had allowed those words to escape from his lips. He pushed past the guard, shaking with what he had just said.

 

He had purposefully dressed in simple attire and foregone the splendid armour he could have worn, choosing not to ride the city streets mounted on a stallion as he had done so many times in his past, instead he had opted for a quiet entrance into the city, initially wanting to prolong his journey to the Red Keep, and now he wished he had a horse to gallop through the crowd, having them part for him. He desperately wanted this day to be over with.

There were not as many people as he remembered lining the streets, it was busy, but there was something different about the place.  The buildings were not as run down looking, newer timber could be seen everywhere. These had been fairly recent improvements.  Jaime thought of Tyrion, and how this must be his brothers work. __  
  


Jaime was halted once more when he arrived to the outer gates to the Red Keep; he had hoped one of the gold cloaks stationed would be one from when he served on the Kingsguard so he would not have to go through the annoyance of identifying himself again.  The golden hand did not suffice in getting him a second entry, instead he was made to wait for an exorbitant amount of time, he contemplated turning heel and going gods knows where when his name was shouted out at him from behind the gates.

“Lannister! Welcome back brother,” The words were edged with sarcasm.

Jaime sneered with disgust at the sight of Boros Blount’s fat ambling gait. How that creature had managed to hold his station through the wars, treasons, and riots was beyond him, of course cowards and roaches were renowned for their persistent survivability.  On each side of the man were two other white cloaks, knights he did not recognize, they both looked as if they hailed from the east. They were silent and more sombre than Blount. 

“Come on Kingslayer the Queen is expecting you!” Blount laughed as the gates were finally opened for him to enter.

_I will remember that._

Jaime felt a deep sense of foreboding at Blount’s cheerfulness and his easy and flippant use of that reviled name.

 _Tyrion, I hope you know what you’re doing,_ Jaime thought as they escorted him deeper inside the Red Keep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it.   
> Thanks for all the support!


	15. Only One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is in a strange and dangerous eastern city.

The streets of the bazaar was a bustling hive.  The moustached man detoured to the first vendor selling clothing and bought a simple shift, saying nothing he cut her binds and tossed the clothing at her. She contemplated taking the knife and running it through his throat, but thought better of it, instead she hastily threw the flimsy garment over her shoulders.  Her arms and legs were yet bare, but it was much better than clutching the purple cloak about herself.  He bound her wrists again and they continued their strides through the crowded market.

 

The moustashed man was of her height and strode with purpose, he did not meander but ploughed his way through the crowds, with her tied and trailing behind him, she did her best not to bump into anyone, but found the effort futile.  She tried to memorize her surroundings, but their jostled walk through the markets seemed never ending, and there was little hope she could find her way back though the vast maze of tents, stalls and people.  The noise was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and startling to her senses given her recent emergence from the isolated and dark prison of the slave ship.  Voices boomed all around her, people haggling, arguing, shouting, the sounds of animals and birds braying and squawking in her ears.  A cacophony of strange smelling foods clenched her guts, reminding her of how painfully hungry she was.

 

Her legs were not as strong as they were before her capture, and she found herself tiring as they continued further, but she pushed the exhaustion away and willed herself forward, determined to keep his pace. They seemed to be heading towards the walls of the city.  Brienne had never felt so disoriented in her life.  She was completely in the hands of this stranger, and in his mind she was his property, bound and being tagged along like a pup.  She contemplated escaping, throwing her bound wrists over his head and choking the life out of him.  She would have done it, but was doubtful she could get very far as exhausted as she was and it was more likely than not that the citizens of this eastern city would be less than sympathetic to a murderous escaped slave.

 

Weak and at the point of falling to the ground he blessedly stopped in his tracks.  It was a sudden halt and she almost collided into him.

 

They were standing outside a barracks of some kind, armour and weaponry littered the place, every instrument of death imaginable lined the walls. Brienne was contemplating how quickly she could make it to one of those blades when the moustached man called out to one of the many blacksmiths who was in the process of forging daggers, he halted his work, as he was motioned to where they stood.  The moustached man yanked Brienne closer for the smithy to inspect. His hands and arms moving in front of her, pointing and giving instructions of some kind. The blacksmith nodded and held up three fingers.  Seemingly pleased with the discussion the moustached dug into one of the many purses on his belt and threw the smithy a coin, he yanked her rope again, and they continued their walk.

 

They did not travel far, turning into a small tunnel, a thunderous roar from above them shook the walls, and it was in that moment that Brienne had an inclination of this man’s plans for her.  As they emerged from the tunnel a tremendous crowd of people were chanting, shouting and cheering for the battle below.

 

In the pits two fighters were chained together at the ankles, snapping and encircling the men were five feral dogs. These were no friendly loyal pets; the dogs looked half starved, dark, and dangerous. One of the beasts broke from the group and lunged at one of the men, snarling and snapping knocking him to the ground, he feebly used his hands and arms to keeps the beast’s jaws at bay. The other upright shackled companion stabbed the dog through the ribs with his short sword.  The dog wailed as it fell away a few paces before falling to the ground and expiring.  

The crowd cheered on the fighters.

 

The moustached man pushed forward to a covered enclosure, as soon as he sat on a cushioned chair slaves were handing him drink and food.  Honey covered dates, nuts and fruit.  Brienne knelt on the ground beside the moustached man, attempting to distract herself from his food she watched the violence below.  The moustached man grumbled as the same injured man shrieked and went down again, his calf having been nipped. Again his companion saved him by wildly swinging his blade in an effort to keep the others at bay. He pulled the fallen man up, forcing him to his feet.

 

The dance continued like that for some time, the dogs moving in on the injured man, while the other protected him, swinging and cutting at the attacking dogs. Brienne did not know the poor souls, who were reduced to this shameless display of entertainment, but she had been in their place once, and she quietly cheered for them, her hands clenched and tensed every time a dog lunged at them.  The injured combatant could no longer stand; the wound to his leg was weeping blood.  His dead weight hampered the movements of the other. The moustached man seemed to be frustrated by the turn of events, and threw his platter to the floor in anger. Brienne licked her lips and clutched her stomach, willing her eyes away from the discarded morsels.

 

One of the dogs jumped seeing an opportunity; the uninjured man was quick with the blade and swatted the dog away, opening its throat, a splattering of red blood hitting the sand before its carcass.  The dogs seemed more leery of their prey, keeping their distance, only three remained. Suddenly there was a blast of a horn; the remaining dogs retreated to the gates.  The crowds cheered wildly for the surviving men.  Brienne was elated for their victory, but did not dare utter a sound. The moustached man clapped and shouted to another spectator who was in his own covered enclosure, he snarled and threw a sack of coins down into the moustached mans hands, catching the purse the moustached man grinned happily. He had been the victor in a bet.

 

Brienne looked around at the crowds, now all chanting in unison, she had no hopes in understanding what it could be.  She watched in shock as the fallen and injured man grabbed a dagger tucked in his belt and sliced the interior of the standing mans thigh, a mortal wound. The moustached man laughed and turned to her holding up a single finger, the message was clear.

 

_There could only be one..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, was my birthday yesterday and was a bit too distracted to write. Thanks for reading along!


	16. Silver Spoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime returns to his position as a member of Deanery's Queensguard, under certain conditions.

The massive doors to the Great Hall were opened and beyond them lay a full court of spectators; Jaime refused to meet their curious stares as he made his way forward.  Hushed whispers and murmurs followed him as he passed.  His head was held high, sword at his hip, and despite not being adorned in armour, he had the posture and status of a knight.  He was a Lannister, and regardless of attire, he was always cloaked with his name.

Shafts of light beamed in through the western windows, bright slices that illuminated the floor and people within the Great Hall. At the end of his path sitting on the massive iron throne was the silver haired Queen, elegant and lithe, she made a stark contrast to the monstrosity of melted and fused iron swords.  His brother Tyrion sat at the base of the iron throne to the right of the Queen, ever the dutiful Hand and servant. To each side of them stood the three remaining members of the current Queensguard. The aging Barristan the Bold, the perpetually serious Balon Swann, and to the left of him the burnt flower Lorras Tyrell, a sour expression set upon his ruined face.

Jaime stopped at an appropriate distance, gave a sweeping bow and said, “Your Grace,”

“Jaime Lannister of Tarth.” She addressed him coolly. “Returned dishonoured knight of the Kingsguard, it has been deemed that you shall be reinstated to your position as member of this Queensguard, a post you were never dismissed of.  Any titles, heirs, and marriages you have attained in your absence from this station shall hereby be considered false and rendered as such.”

His face was stone.

“I will hear you forsake those claims before this assembled court.” Where her father had been fire, this Queen was ice.

Tyrion had prepared him for the conditions the Queen was to set forth, he had time to steel his mind, determined not to falter on his words, to not show weakness and the pain in his heart for having to say what she wanted to hear Jaime swallowed and said, “I hereby disavow any titles, children, and bonds of marriage.” His heart sank as the verbal betrayals fell from his mouth, betrayals to his children and his deceased wife.  

“Give me the names of those you are disavowing,”

 _You bitch_ , Jaime thought, guts full of venom his face mute and unrevealing.

Without missing a step he said, “I disavow Evan Lannister, Giselda Lannister, and my deceased wife Brienne Lannister of Tarth.” He paused and bit his tongue, tempted to add the title ‘The Dragonslayer’. There. It was done; she had taken everything that mattered to him.

 _Forgive me Brienne. She would have forgiven me, she always forgave me,_ Jaime thought sadly, an attempt to salve his wounds.

“Very well. I trust your remember the walk to the White Sword Tower?”

Jaime nodded, glad for the dismissal.  He turned on his heal, anxious to leave this monstrous performance behind him. His footsteps echoed dully as he made his strides through the hushed gathering.

“Ser Jaime.  There is one more thing.”  Her voice rang out like a bell, beckoning and halting his exit. Jaime turned back to face Queen Daenerys, she lowered her gaze, a flicker of heat beneath the stare. “You are never to carry a sword in my presence, in this room, in the Red Keep, or in this city. Ser Barristan.”

There was an explosion of whispers amongst the gathering.

Barristan Selmy moved as his Queen commanded, he held out his hand waiting for the passing of Jaime’s blade.  The old knight was even whiter if such a thing was possible. Jaime looked to Tyrion, he had not been warned of this embarrassment. Tyrion sat unfazed revealing nothing in his expression.

Jaime unsheathed the Sapphire Sword, the silver and blue gemstones glinting brilliantly in a shaft of the light, he admired its beauty before handing it over. “Keep her safe.”  

Barristan nodded.

“You may leave.” Daenerys waved him away.  Just a glimmer of a satisfied smirk set upon her lips.

 _I am a Lannister.  I am a Lannister,_ he thought with each footfall as he exited the Great Hall.   

 

The Round Room of the White Sword Tower was exactly as he remembered it, stark, pristine, and without personality.  The last time he had been in its chambers was shortly before he had escaped the city with Brienne. In truth he could remember very little of that frenzied escape, the city had been a pit of turmoil after the death of Tommen.   _Sweet little Tommen_.  Jaime’s heart ached at the memory, the guilt of that day having never completely left him. Brienne had to practically carry him through the panicked crowds, the mute Sansa Stark trailing along, Brienne had also devised their escape that day, and she had saved them both.

Those last few days before the trial had been a slice of time when his heart could have gone either way.  There had been a strange stirring for Brienne then, something he was too infantile to comprehend, but the echos of the love he shared for Cersei were still calling out to him. Bewildered by the effect Brienne was having on him he had purposefully kept away from them both, finding solace in this very room, trying to learn more of the unworthy cretins his sister had assigned to the Kingsguard.  He was genuinely relieved he would not have to suffer the presence of Oswald Kettleblack. Tyrell, Swann, Trant, there hadn’t been a knight among them that could have equalled her blade at that time he thought with pride.

The more his sister bared her teeth and cruelty, the more he turned away from her. On the contrary he was realizing more and more how much pleasure he enjoyed in his time spent with Brienne, obstinate as she could be, she was good and kind and the excitement he felt when they duelled made his blood sing.

Brienne had made him want to be a better man again. She had been a bright burning light, and he had been a moth unknowingly yet willingly consumed by it.

He remembered back to those late evening hours when he had thrown his white cloak on top of Cersei’s dinner table.  Revolted and frustrated with her malignity. She was going to dismiss him then and there, and he had in a prideful rage robbed her of that opportunity. If only he had let her, he wouldn’t be here participating in this mummer's farce.

Thankfully his morose thoughts were interrupted by the returning members of the Queensguard.  Not knowing where his place was at the table he stood and waited for them to settle.  

He was the odd man out, still dressed in his simple brown leather long coat.  The other knights took their places, glowing in their white and silver armour.

Barristan wordlessly motioned for him to sit.  Jaime pulled the chair out, and on his seat lay a curled fist of an iron hand, in its grip a silver spoon.  

 _So this is how I am to ‘protect’ the Queen?_ Jaime thought.

Boros Blount snorted a terrible and half-hearted attempt to stifle his laughter. It was clear who had crafted this for him, a juvenile revenge for when he had named the man Tommen’s food taster.

Jaime grabbed the hand held it up to his face, giving it an appraising gaze. “A gift, from you Blount?  This is a rather tiny fist; did the maker model it off of your own hand?”

The other knights gathered around the table snickered.

Blount stuttered, his brow furrowed realizing his joke had been turned around on him.

Barristan Selmy looked on disapprovingly at them all; he gave Blount a measured glare.

Jaime sat in his chair, placing Blount’s ‘gift’ on the table beside him.

 _I owe you two debts now you miserable cunt_.  Jaime thought smirking at Blount.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quiet torture for Jaime. Let us hope he can maintain his composure for his sake.


	17. Sword in Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mustached Man tests Brienne's skills.

“I refuse to wear that.” The slave girl blinked at Brienne briefly before exiting the room, leaving the strange and foreign armour with her.

She had been kept chained in cramped quarters within the lower confines the Mustached Man’s home for three days, she was fed and well attended to, but had yet to converse with anyone that could understand her words. She spent her hours in frustration, thinking of ways to escape, thinking of home, and damning herself for ever leaving.

With trepidation she eyed the ridiculous armour the young slave had brought for her to wear, her stern words with the girl may have been in a strange language, but the way she had delivered them had effectively delivered the message she intended.

The hardened leather breastplate was dyed black, it was padded with two mounds and brightly painted scroll work to accentuate the breasts, breasts she knowingly lacked.  The lower portion of the armor was also made of hardened black leather, a shortened skirt, a length similar to the summer coats that the northerners wore. Her legs would be free to move, but they would also lack protection.  

“Put on armour.”

Brienne spun to face the man who was at her door.  It was the man she had observed the past few days ordering the other slaves about, always with a thick wooden rod gripped in his fist, a tool and threat for disobedience.

She stood in a shocked momentary silence realizing he had addressed her in her own tongue.

“I will not.” She finally uttered.

“You will, or I will beat you,” He pointed at her with the wooden rod to illustrate his point.

Brienne smiled, “You’re welcomed to try.”

The man looked at her appraisingly, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.  She stood at least two heads above him. The man thinking better of his threat left her door in a huff.

Brienne sat on her bed, a simple wooden thing, with a flimsy mat, one of her ankles manacled and chained to the stone floor.  She contemplated the metal, wondering how strong the anchor was when her thoughts were interrupted by the slave master again.  

“Put armour on, or I beat her.” The man said gruffly holding the girl by the arm, the girl did not struggle, but her brown eyes were full of fear.  To illustrate the seriousness of his threat the slave master cracked the rod against the side of her ribs.

The girl screamed out in a shriek of pain.

Brienne’s first inclination was to charge at him, but her chains allowed her no more than a pace, and she was out of reach of the wretch.

“Put on,” He raised the rod again.

Brienne had never willingly undressed in front of another man, the close quarters of her tiny room made the experience more excruciating, she hesitated as her fingers clutched the flimsy fabric at her chest.

“Hurry!” He squeezed the girls arm eliciting another shriek of pain.  

“Stop!” Brienne yelled out. She was still wearing the simple shift the Mustached Man had acquired for her the first day at the markets, throwing it over her head she undressed quickly, grabbing at the leather armour in a frantic effort to cover herself, only to be halted by the numerous buckles and laces, unsure of how it all worked.

The man stood and watched with a victorious smirk painted across his features.  

He tossed the girl into the room, uttering a command at her.  The young girls’ fingers immediately set to work in helping Brienne with her garments, fastening her firmly into the armour.  Fully dressed in the garb Brienne blushed at the thought of how she must look. The man laughed at her embarrassment.   

When she had first heard the head slave speak, her heart had beat excitedly with hope, she had almost let fly from her lips promises of gold and thrown around the name ‘Lannister’ again in hopes that he would help and offer an escape, but she could see now this man would be of no help.  She desperately needed to get word back to Jaime.

 _Forgive me Jaime_. Her heart ached thinking of him, and how much she longed to just collapse into his arms and weep, something she so rarely allowed herself to do.

“Come,” the head slave commanded.

 

The young slave girl unlocked her from her chains, and Brienne followed them both down the narrow hallway, ducking her head to avoid smacking it on the low ceilings.  They climbed a short staircase emerging into a dazzingly manicured garden. The heat was unlike anything she had ever felt, and her eyes blinked rapidly trying to adapt to the brightness of the day. Varieties of trees and flowers she had never seen before were in full bloom all around her. Down the cobbled path they walked until they came to an open rounded courtyard covered in sand, opposite of where they stood was the seated Mustached Man. With him sat another man, a very wealthy friend judging by his many jeweled rings and silken clothing,  Brienne believed his companion could rival any noblewoman in all of Westeros for his finery.

The head slave with his accursed wooden rod came up behind her, “Go to the pit. He wishes to look at you.” Brienne moved to the center of the sand, the heat burning the skin at the bottom of her feet.  The sun’s heat beat down upon her bare face, arms and neck, before long her skin would surely be red and dotted with hundreds of freckles.

The men spoke amongst themselves, eyeing Brienne as if she was some sort of exotic pet. She glared at them, but they grinned at her, seemingly enjoying her hatred for them, so she averted her stare and looked down to the sand.

The Mustached Man clapped his hands and waved an armoured guard over, in his hands he carried a short sword and small buckler.  Weapons were brought to her, and it was clear they expected a duel, a display of her skill.

She was hesitant to give them what they desired, to fulfill their game, she was no man’s source of amusement, and yet there was no denying the pleasant feeling of having a blade in her hand again, her fingers flexing deliciously on the grip of the sword.  It felt like in that moment she had recovered a piece of herself.

The Mustached man yelled out, and his guard did not hesitate, he came flying at her with a high overhead swing, all thoughts of defiance and refusing to fight quickly dissolved as she raised her buckler, easily blocking the blow, more reflex than conscious thought.  From the first clash of their swords a spark was ignited in her blood.  All the rage, frustration and pain she had been holding inside since leaving her home bubbled and boiled over.

She had wanted to rob these creatures of their amusement, but instead found her arms delivering blow after blow onto the unprepared guard, she could vaguely hear the spectators yelling and clapping, impressed by her powerful attacks.  Her opponent no longer bothered to swing at her, but crouched away, holding on to his buckler, fear locked in his eyes.  He backed out of the rounded arena, threw his weapon down, and called for mercy.  Brienne halted mid swing, stepped back and breathed heavily.  Her stamina had gone to rot all those months locked away in that ship.  As if the Mustached Man recognized her desires he summoned for water to be brought to her.

She held her dull sword in hand and surveyed the courtyard, there were a few more guards posted, and if they were anything like this weak opponent she could easily kill them and leap the wall.

_And then where to then? To the madness of the streets beyond these walls?_

She finished her water, wiped her chin and set the cup on the tray of the slave who had brought it to her.  
The moustached man summoned forth more guards to duel, and this time Brienne did not hesitate in throttling them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else imagining the Xena outfit?


	18. No Hard Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from the children, followed by a slice of revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renamed this chapter. In case anyone gets confused.

Jaime played with the letter between his fingers, rubbing the thin sheet of paper in the spot where his little son and daughter had pressed their inked fingers. He wouldn’t have known whose prints belonged to which child, but Sansa had written their names beside the tiny circular marks. It softened his heart towards the now Lady of Casterly Rock, it was the thoughtfulness of a mother to include the fingerprints, a precious and welcomed gift.  It was also a reminder of how far away they were from the uncertainty of the days that lay ahead.  

This farce he had to participate and the humiliation would all be worth it, knowing he was doing whatever was necessary to keep his children away from harm. He kissed each tiny black fingerprint before gently folding the letter and placing it beneath his pillow. Jaime pressed the cushion down firmly, as if somehow that would keep the little note safe.

He would write to them later this evening, after the Queen’s late supper.  He liked the idea of pressing his own fingers in ink and returning a letter to them.  He did not enjoy the prospect of having to write the words, he had depended on Brienne to do that work for him. His children’s scrawl would probably be more legible than his own.  In all his years at Tarth he had managed to perfect his work with a sword, but was woefully inept at his work with a pen.

Resting on his small desk was the “gift” from Blount, he strapped the metal monstrosity on what remained of his severed appendage. He enjoyed not giving the others any satisfaction of feeling they had embarrassed him with the spooned hand, or by his duties as the Queen’s food tester. He spit on the spoon and polished the silver with his white cloak.  Satisfied with the shine he blew out his candle, and left his quarters in the White Sword Tower and making his way towards the Queen’s dining chambers.

Jaime strolled down the corridors of the Red Keep, thankful for the one advantage of being a disgraced White Cloak; he was not expected to stand guard at Daenerys's door.  It was a tedious and dull duty, one that he was happy to do without.  Daenerys had ripped out the lion’s claws and was content to have him eat her food and drink her wine, and solely that.  He could not wander far, as the Queen ate several small meals at all hours throughout the day and night, a habit she picked up in Essos.

Jaime had feared he would become a fat and bloated knight like Blount, doing nothing but eating and being forbidden from swordplay, but Tyrion had managed to allow him the privilege of practicing in the yards. The Queen would not relinquish in her order for him to hold steel of any kind, she would only allow him to practice with wooden swords, and under the condition that even those instruments remain in the yards when he was through.

Hacking and slashing at straw dummies was a blessed bit of exercise, but he longed for a blood and flesh opponent. None of the others had accepted his challenge to duel, afraid that showing any sort of kindness towards him would offend their chilly Queen.

The lonesomeness he felt for Tarth, for their home, the battle yards, the knights, and most of all for _her_ made his heart ache. Brienne had always been superior with her unnatural endurance and strength, but he had the advantage of movement and doing the unexpected.  The realization that he would never duel with her again was bitter and he forced himself to think on other things.

The night was cool and still, with only slight rumblings from the city making its way beyond the Keeps walls.  He climbed the stairs, nodding to two gold cloaks on patrol.

Jaime stopped halfway down the corridor; he peered out beyond the walls and allowed himself to enjoy the view. The dull yellow candle light from the thousands of homes beyond the wall of the Red Keep was mirrored by a vast expanse of white and blue stars flickering above.

He looked beyond the glow of the city, further West and thought of his children and the game his brother was playing at.

Tyrion had been avoiding him for days claiming to be busy with the never-ending responsibilities of the Hand.  Jaime supposed his brother very well could be telling the truth. If he could think of anything more loathsome than being a sword-less, spoon-carrying member of the Queensguard, it was being the Hand of a Targaryen Queen losing grips with her senses.  Jaime had few personal observations of Tyrion’s claims towards Daenerys's decent into madness, but she was clearly mistrustful of him, when he entered a room she paid more mind to the furniture, she was tight lipped and her words were sparse in his presence.  In what observations he had made of Daenerys the Queen did not strike him as being particularly off in the same way that Aerys had been. All he could do was watch her, be patient and try and be content in the knowledge that his children were safely out of reach half-way across Westeros.

He wondered if a raven could best a dragon in a long flight.  

 _Dragons were quick, but need to rest and consume large amounts of game, whereas a raven would be slower, but needing less rest over great distances_.

In the midst of his pondering he heard the humming of an unmistakable voice. Jaime felt a small amount of pleasure with his change in fortune _._

It was late into the evening hours and Blount was returning from his nightly jaunt to the taverns and whorehouses.  Jaime never cared who among his brothers sullied themselves by fornicating with painted women.  It would have been hypocritical given his once regular visits with Cersei.

The knight was alone and as he rounded the corner he did not notice Jaime sitting against the pillared balcony.  Jaime cleared his throat and grinned at the man, Blount jumped seeming to be startled.

Jaime enjoyed a brief flicker of panic in Blount's eyes.  Blount's fear was brief and disappeared as quickly as it had come. The look of relief that settled upon his expression was an insult.  The man did not believe Jaime to be much of a threat.

“Enjoyable evening Blount?”

Blount grinned drunkenly, “my dick is wet and I have a gut full of ale, can’t complain.” 

Jaime allowed a corner of his mouth to twitch.

“Hey, about the spoon... ‘twas only a joke.  No hard feelings.” Blount reached his right hand out as a peace offering. “Oh, right!” He wiped his left hand on his breeches and offered it instead.

Jaime extended his hand out.

Blount leaned in closer to speak, a puff of stale beer exhaled onto Jaime’s cheek, “If you wanna come down one of these nights there are some real lovelies. New girls brought in from the east.  A man like you, married to that woman you had, could probably use something pretty to shove…”

Jaime didn’t let the man finish; he gripped Blount’s hand and swiftly delivered the silver spoon through his left eye. Jaime pulled it free from the socket a tendril of gore spewed forth. Blount screamed, his free hand trembled at the wound.

Jaime silenced him, delivering a quick punch to the knight’s throat, “That was for your gift, and this is for insulting my wife.” Jaime grabbed at Blount’s fat sweaty neck, pushing him towards the edge of the balcony. He bent his knees and braced himself as he lifted Blount over the edge. His arms flailed at Jaime uselessly, and the damage to his throat had rendered his scream silent. He fell headfirst, a dull smacking thud onto rough stone below.

Pulling a cloth from inside his armour Jaime wiped his utensil clean and continued his stroll towards the Queen’s dining hall to complete his duties for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling a bit dark and violent lately. I think I might need to write a chapter about the kids at Casterly Rock getting a basket of kittens after all this doom and gloom.


	19. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is a success in the arena, but a what cost?

She had inflicted a mortal wound upon the man, but it would be a slow death, she decided to delay in ending him. He was not one of those who deserved mercy.

There were some who relished and revelled in cruelties to their opponents, they enjoyed drawing out death, prolonging anguish all for the sake of entertaining the crowds. Brienne found those arena fighters to be the most repugnant and made special note of those who took that course.

The Moustached Man noticed her blood lust was increased when she was pitted against the more savage fighters, and he had elected to place her against the more fearsome brutes.  During her first of many battles Brienne had been pitted against far inferior fighters, slight men who barely could wield their weapons, most likely slaves put into combat as a punishment from some perceived wrong.  She had easily made short work of those opponents, much to the displeasure of the crowds and the Moustached Man. She knew he wanted a more sensational show from her, to gloat, roar, and curry favour with the crowds, and to play on the fact that she was a woman.  She pretended she could not comprehend his rage and continued to end her battles quickly.  It was an annoyance to think of how much gold she had made for the man with her victories, and yet he always seemed to always demand more of her.

The poor excuse for armour he dressed her in remained much the same, accentuated breasts and shortened skirts.  They had taken to lining her eyes with black paint, a style favoured by the wealthier women of the city, as well as some of the men.  As much as she had fought against the black paint, she had to admit it did help with the glare of the sun.

Brienne kicked the Dothraki in his lower jaw, a splattering of blood and teeth flew through the air, his bruised and puffy eyes looked at her for mercy.  She thought of what the Head Slave had said to her the night before as she was returned to her cramped dwelling, her chains fastened to the floor.

 

_“You must put on better show.”_

_“I’m winning.  That is enough.”_

_“No.  If you do not entertain you are worthless.”_

_“I’ve won every fight.”_

_“No one will want to give arena time to a bore.”_

_“What do I care?”_

_“If you do not fight and entertain, you are of no value. A slave of no value is a dead slave.”_

_“I am no slave.”_

_The head slave chuckled at her contempt. “If you do not fight better I cut off fingers.”_

 

Brienne knew he meant the fingers of the young slave girl.   Whenever she resisted his commands he was quick to threaten an innocent.  The vile man was an expert at exploiting the perceived weaknesses of others.

The wounded Dothraki who knelt in the dirt before her had fought against an elderly slave man in a match not long ago; the slave was armed with a great axe he could barely lift with his small sinewy arms. The fierce and powerful Dothraki was given a tiny arakh, the blade barely the length of her thumb. The Dothraki took great joy in humiliating the piteous man. An elderly slave who had been thrown into the pit no longer of any use, he was an opportunity to milk one last coin for his master.

The Dothraki could have easily overpowered the old slave, taken his axe and ended the ugly display swiftly, but instead he elected to slice at the old man slowly with minor, non-lethal cuts and slices, stabs that barely bit into flesh. It had been a cruel and disgusting show.

When she recognized the Dothraki with his long black braided and belled hair, she was glad to have the opportunity to return the mercy he had shown that old slave.

Brienne kneed the Dothraki in the guts again; his hands and abdomen were painted with dark, almost black blood.  He blubbered as he clutched at his stomach holding his innards in place. His cries of pain were barely audible over the exhilarated crowd.

She gripped at his hairs lifting his head upwards, exposing his neck and slid her blade across his throat; the blood flowed freely as he fell into the sand.

She looked down disgusted with what she was about to do.  Brienne reached down and sliced the braid from his hair, her hand sopping with blood as she raised the long braid for the crowds, the wind making the bells chime.  She felt herself wretch, which was a curious sensation.  She had long gotten over the nausea of killing a foe, but here she was with a sick feeling in the guts, almost as vile as when she had slaughtered her first pigs at Tarth.  The crowds erupted in cheers and applause.  Brienne tossed the braid into the sand and wiped her bloodied hand against her bare thigh.  She looked to the Moustached Man.  His hands were triumphantly held high in the air a gleeful expression spread across his face; it appeared that she had pleased him with a good show.

 _I have to get out of this place._ Brienne thought as she looked up to the crowds chanting whatever name it was they had given her.

She was sick of her ‘master’, she was sick of his house and his slaves.

The adulation of the spectators was terrifyingly loud.  They had cheered for her before, but never quite this passionately. The thought that there was a small part of her that enjoyed the arena, made her ill.

_It can’t be…_

With every passing day she felt like she was losing her grip on the woman she had been. The woman who was a knight, the woman who was a loving mother, the woman who had somehow captured the heart of Jaime Lannister.

She stepped towards the gates; she was anxious to get inside the walls where the baths were, where she could be cleansed of the blood and dirt.  

“Master was most pleased.  Tonight we celebrate your victory.”  The Head Slave slapped her shoulder, a friendly and congratulatory gesture.  Brienne grit her teeth, willing herself to maintain her composure and not break his fingers.

 

 

Gold adorned her wrists, her neck, and legs, jewelled cuffs and chains.  A large gathering was invited to celebrate her victories an excuse for the Moustached Man to show off his favourite pet. Tonight she was a golden spectacle, a statue of amusement for the party.

They had lined her eyes with black and her skin was dusted with golden flakes, an attempt to hide the numerous cuts and bruises that she had earned in the arena. Her hair was slicked back, and she wore a linked chain upon her head, mockingly resembling Westerosi armour. Her new black armour with its short skirt was threaded in gold as well.  When the women had prepared her for the evening she had not fought, she was beyond the point of resisting.  

“You should be happy. You have won more battles than any other in the city ever.” The Head Slave said to her as one of the slave women dusted more of the golden flakes on her legs.

She towered over them all, a sparkling golden giant, her muscular arms and legs chained together and bolted to the floor. The guest gawked; some brushed their hands over her body.  Her guards would mutter out negatively to those they caught.

Music played, delicacies were consumed, and the wine flowed freely.  The Moustached Man was being attended to by several silken whores, he squeezed the exposed breast of one, while another delivered wine into his open mouth, purple dripped from his moustache as the cup was pulled away from his lips. His eyes met Brienne’s.

Brienne quickly looked away, but it was too late. He was bidding she be brought over.

The guards yanked her onwards as commanded.  She stepped down into the cushioned pit where the Moustached Man and his whores were enjoying their debauchery.  The women looked leery of her presence, except for one.  A familiar woman with dark hair and painted red lips, she was dressed in purple sheer silks. She looked at Brienne with an expression of lust.  Brienne blushed with the realization.  She had only ever seen that look in Jaime’s eyes.  To witness it on the face of this strange woman was bewildering.

The woman leaned over to whisper into the ear of the Moustached Man, her eyes never leaving Briennes. Whatever the woman had said had the Moustached Man looking at Brienne in much the same way.  He licked his lips, twirled his moustashe and smiled.  Brienne’s uneasiness grew.

The Moustached Man barked out an order to his guards. She let out a breath of relief as she was pulled away.

The guards took her outside into the gardens, but instead of taking her back to the welcomed solitude of her cell, they veered to the path leading towards the Moustached Mans private quarters.

“No.” Brienne said, resisting the guards.

They did not stop.

Brienne dragged against her chains refusing to be pulled any further.

The guards grumbled amongst themselves.  She was a prize, they would not dare harm.

“Move.”

Brienne closed her eyes, her heart sinking with defeat.  It was the Head Slave poking her from behind with his wooden staff.

“Move or I will fuck her with this stick tonight.”

Her mind numb and stomach sick, she willed her feet forward.

 

 

Her arms hung in the air above her, her feet were chained apart to the floor. There had been too many, she tried her best to fight, but the binds of her cuffs and chains allowed for little movement. Her head throbbed from where she had head-butted one of the guards in the nose, she sincerely hoped she had broke it.

Bitter tears stung her eyes as she thought _, I will kill them all after this.  I promise I will find a way to kill them all._

When it was done, she vowed that she would climb the walls and run as far and as fast as she could.  She would kill anyone who tried to stop her. After this night she doubted she would care much if she was caught and killed.

 _I’m sorry Jaime. My babies._ More racking sobs escaping her lips.

She drew in a sharp breath and ceased her crying at the sounds of a womans laughter, outside the door she could hear the Moustached Man and his whore coming towards the room.  As the curtains of the door parted they looked at her like she was a sumptuous feast.

The woman sauntered into the room, veering for the wine set out on his table, a large ornate gold and jewelled vessel. Pouring a glass she handed the cup to the Moustached Man and then turned her attention to Brienne. She slowly brushed her fingers over Brienne’s abdomen, sliding her hands over her breasts. The Moustached Man looked on, enjoying the show she was presenting.  Brienne closed her eyes and turned her head away, the woman moved in closer, delivering a small wet kiss to her neck.  She made a salacious sound as she opened her mouth, licking gently at Brienne’s neck.  The woman stepped away as the Moustached Man called her over.  He had pulled out his erection, and demanded she service him.

The woman pouted and protested, calling him over to Brienne. To entice him she unbarred her breasts and playfully hid behind Brienne. The Moustached Man grinned enjoying the prospects of the game he was being invited to play.

He grabbed the hands of the whore, pulling her body into Brienne’s. Brienne could feel the breath of the woman on her back. The whore giggled as he guided her hands to Brienne’s breasts, and set to work on licking at Brienne’s neck in the same spot the whore had.  Brienne cried, her face streaked with the black they had painted her eyes with. The Moustached Man paid no attention, his facial hairs scratched at her skin, his hands now at her breasts, squeezing through the armour, he tugged downwards at the breast plate, exposing her left nipple, he took it into his mouth.  Brienne opened her eyes; his face and ear were close.  She could bite him, make him never want to do this to her again.

She leaned forward to clamp her teeth into his flesh but was startled by a sudden cry.  The Moustached Man backed away from Brienne, his eyes wide with disbelief, he flailed his arms behind him, reaching at his upper back, as he spun around Brienne caught a glimpse of the dagger that had been sunk between his shoulder blades.  

The whore was frantically looking for something to finish what she had started. Grabbing the large metal wine decanter she smashed the vessel against the back of the Moustached Mans head.  He went down groaning in pain, the whore hit him again. The second blow accomplished her aim.  He fell unconscious to the floor, the finely threaded carpet tarnished with wine and his blood. The whore looked up from where she had bashed the man down, her wide eyes meeting Brienne’s astonished gaze.

Breathing heavily she said, “Brienne Lannister of Tarth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some hope for her to get the hell out of this creepy place!  
> Sorry this one took a couple of days to get up, but its almost double what I usually post. Extra creepy, but extra juicy!


	20. The Path of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the journey of Arya Stark.

The girl who was Arya Stark listened through the stillness of the night, her human ears so frustratingly inferior.  She didn’t dare warg into a wolf inside the castle grounds.  The dogs would bark an alarm, and she preferred to stealthily get in and out of Winterfell. Being here was a great risk, one she was uncertain about; it had been the dreams that had pulled her north.

It was eerily strange standing within the walls of her childhood home, a place she never thought she would never see again, a place she was supposed to have denied existing for so long. Winterfell was inhabited by strangers now, enemies that were former friends of her family. The thought brought an icy rage to her heart.

She knelt In the shadow of the great weirwood and thought of her family and how their happiness had all been drained away the day her father headed south.  Running her hand over its bark she could still imagine his figure bending beneath the trees branches. The Stark children had followed their mothers religion, some better than others, Sansa had been devout, Arya found worship rather tedious and dull.

The white trunk of the tree glowed in the light of the moon; a blustery wind blew light snow across the frozen pond waters, a pale and shadowed reflection of its branches revealed. She silently wondered how many prayers and promises had been whispered here at its weeping face. 

_Arya._ Her heart beat fast at the sound of her name.  She unsheathed Needle quick as a lightning bolt. Holding her breath she listened.  Certain she had imagined it.

 _Arya_. She gasped and her heart beat faster than she thought possible.

“Who is there?” How could she have let someone sneak up on her?  It was her own fault; she had been preoccupied with thinking of a life that no longer mattered.  It was a mistake to have come.

 _Your brother_. The words had come from the weirwood. Arya slinked around the tree, her sword ready to strike.

Suddenly hundreds of crows flittered down from the sky; they flapped and screeched, resting into the branches of the tree, barely visible against the night sky, shiny dark eyes blinking down at her.

A flash of white caught her attention from beyond the Godswood.  

_A dire wolf. Ghost. Jon’s wolf..._

_Jon is always with his wolf, just as I am always within these trees, or the crows._ The voice in her head was Bran’s, she could hear it clearly now.

There was a strange heat trickling down her face, slicing her icy skin like tiny blades.

 _A wolf shall rule the north and a wolf shall rule the south._ Bran’s voice said from within.

The great white dire wolf came to Arya, his head low and eyes sad.  She could hear the yelping of the dogs echoing from the interior of the castle walls, and just as quick as their barking had started they suddenly stopped.  Like a sharp snap It became eerily quiet again.

Arya reached out a gloved hand to the wolf, “Jon,” She cried as she buried her face in his soft white fur.

The wolf whimpered, and licked her face with his large and warm tongue. She looked into the wolf’s red eyes and smiled sadly.        

That night she slept in the godswood, curled up with the wolf that had once been her bastard brother Jon Snow, protected and safe in his fury warmth, and as she closed her eyes they were watched by the crows that had been her younger brother Bran.  She would avenge them all, and set things right.  She was home, and she was who she was supposed to be, she now had a purpose.  She had been death, faceless, and yet the faces of many, but now she was a wolf again.  She was Arya Stark, she would bring her sister home, she would find Rickon, she vowed the wolves would return to Winterfell.

 

In the morning she left Winterfell on the back of the giant white dire wolf, in the evenings the bitter cold was abated by Ghost-Jon’s warmth.  Her brother watched them from above, warning them of any danger, guiding them onwards.  

Heading for the south again she was reminded of the last time she had sought out her mother In the Riverlands.  She had failed to find the woman who was Catelyn Stark, but somehow in the midst of her search she had been thrust into the middle of a war between the dead and the living.  In the frenzy of the battle her life had been saved by Brienne, the new wife of the Kingslayer. Jaime Lannister had never made her list, but she was considering making room, he was the twin of Cersei, and rumoured father of the monster Joffery, that alone was enough to include him. He had become a hindrance to her training, constantly interrupting her lessons with Brienne, demanding her time. She had never seen a man so attached to his wife.

In her time with Brienne, a glimpse into the possibilities of another path was revealed, an alternative to the dark one she had been walking for so long. She couldn’t rightly identify what kept her with the woman for as long as she did, but in time she realized it was something she had forgotten. 

Brienne had a quiet gentleness about her, a goodness that awoke something in Arya. When the new dragon Queen pitted Brienne against her most fierce dragon, Arya had been incensed by the injustice of it.  She had been a helpless child the last time she was in Kings Landing.  There was nothing she could have done to prevent her father’s death, but she could help Brienne from sharing a similar fate.

With Brienne safe she had left Kings Landing. She had wanted to visit her sister in the west, the only living family she knew was left.  It was during her first night traveling that she had dreamt of Winterfell, the Godswood, and of the crows.  When she awoke in the morning the north called for her. She rode the horse she stole as far as she could through the snows and forests, there were no more wights and others to fear, only weak and starving men.  The horse had not lasted the whole of the journey but had carried her far beyond the lands of the Neck. There were no more horses in the north. She pushed through the rest of the way on foot, burrowing into the snow in the evenings, wrapped in furs.

 

She travelled with a sense of purpose, the path had been set before her by her brother.  First she had to speak with the Lady Stoneheart.

She walked the woods in the Riverlands, hoping someone would spy her; the rumours were that these woods belonged to Stoneheart, not many dared to venture into them.  On the second day of her travel through the forest, scrawny pitiful looking men, left-overs from the wars ambled out of the barren trees like wights.  

“Take me to Stoneheart.  Tell her that her daughter wishes to speak with her.” At first her words had given them pause; she was slight and most still mistook her for weak. The ugly men laughed, leering at her like she was a lost lamb.

She was no lamb.  She was a wolf.  Ghost-Jon emerged from his hiding place in the alabaster banks.  The men’s eyes widened at the size of the great beast, vapours of his breath streaming from his open mouth.  

“Bring her to me or we’ll eat you!” Arya commanded, she rested her hand on her brother’s neck, patting at his fur, calming him, the air felt as though it vibrated with the deep hum of his growl.

She rested against Ghost-Jon, waiting for Lady Stoneheart.  Arya’s heart was burdened with uneasiness at the prospect of seeing her mother.  She had heard many tales of Lady Stoneheart, she didn’t know what she expected to emerge from those dark woods, but she was dreading it.

“Arya.” It was not her mother’s voice, but one of a young man.  One she recognized.

“Gendry?” She asked astonished.  He looked the same as the last day she had seen him.

“When they said it was a dark haired girl asking for her mother, they asked me to look upon you.”  His sombre face lit up with a genuine smile as he approached her.

Ghost-Jon snarled, halting Gendry in place.

Arya hushed him and rose up from the snow.

“You look the same.” She said.

“You don’t.” The way he was staring at her made her uncomfortable.

“Well I must look familiar enough. I need to speak with my mother.” Arya was tired of standing in the cold.

“I’ll take you, but she is not the woman you remember.”

“So everyone tells me.”

Gendry led her to the opening of a vast cavern, the inside of its walls flickered with the amber glow of a warm fire.  

“Mother?” Arya said, her voice trembling like a child’s.

“Arya.” The voice whispered from the spectre of a woman sitting before the fire.  She lifted her chin upwards to reveal a hollow and terrifying face.  Her red eyes glinting inside darkened pools.

Arya had done her best to be prepared for the worst, assuming the descriptions of her mother were wild exaggerations, but their words did not do this creature justice. She was a terror to behold.  

_No wonder she hides in these caves._

Stoneheart rose to hold her daughter.  Arya stiffened in the embrace, closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the warmth that had once been her mother. There was only a brittle chill.

“I’ve come to give you a message from Bran.” Arya whispered.

Stoneheart looked over her shoulder, as if she expected to see her boy. “He is alive? Rickon too?” Her voice broke even more, into something that resembled a sob. 

“I don’t know about Rickon.  Bran is alive, but he’s different now.” _Like you_.  She thought.

Stoneheart closed her eyes and smiled, she looked a little more like her mother standing there when she did that, Arya felt like a child again, her heart aching at the memory of her mother.

“Bran wanted me to tell you that we will all return to Winterfell.  I am going for Sansa first.” Arya reached for her mother’s hand, chilled and skeletal, she landed a kiss upon her sunken cheek, the smell of death swirled around her. “Rest mother.”

The woman that had been Catelyn Stark looked startled and bewildered she nodded and pressed her fingers to where the kiss had landed.  “Gendry.”  She rasped. “Accompany my daughter south, see that she is safe.” 

“That isn’t necessary,” Arya protested.  

“I’ll be happy to,” Gendry replied.

  
  


The protestations she made fell on deaf ears, and Gendry plodded along beside her in the snow, his wide shoulders carrying their supplies.  She could no longer ride Ghost-Jon with him present, and all the horses were spooked by the dire wolfs presence. Going by foot would prolong their trek to the Westerlands, but even so she couldn’t help but admit she was glad to have his company.

“How do you think they will receive us at the gates of Casterly Rock?”

“Every castle needs a good blacksmith.”

Arya and Gendry traveled south towards Sansa, Ghost-Jon always near, and a swirl of crows dancing in the sky.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seem like an odd place for this chapter, but I need to start putting some people in their places.  
> I hope no one is disappointed. Sorry for the late update. Very long and tiring work week. I promise a Jaime or Brienne chapter for next time, and soon!


	21. The Lord Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reactions to Blount's death, and the threat of war is becoming more real.

“You fool! Of all the people to kill you choose someone where all signs of guilt will obviously point to you.” Tyrion’s face was stitched with anger.

“To be fair it wasn’t so much as a choice, as it was an opportunity that presented itself.”

“Jaime you killed a member of the Queensguard, a member that personally and publicly insulted you.  Did you not think that it would not come back to you?”

Jaime shrugged as he took a grape from the large bowl of fruit that sat at Tyrion’s table. “I have done Daenerys a favour.  That fat sack was a miserable excuse for a knight, was not worthy of his position.  She should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?  Blount was one the first to welcome her into Kings Landing; she cherishes nothing more than loyalty.  How am I to protect you now?” Tyrion said woefully, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand as if an answer could be formulated with the gesture.

“I could do with less of your protection brother.  Look at where it has landed me.  Stripped of titles, lands, and forced to disavow my wife and children.”

“Jaime, your head and theirs could all be on spikes outside of these gates.”

“Daenerys enjoys fishing? How deep can a dragon dive I wonder? To recover Brienne’s head from the ocean floor would be impressive.” It hurt him to jape so, but the words spilled out of his mouth like venom.  

The outburst ceased Tyrion’s admonition of him; his brother sighed and took a gentler tone.

“Blount was clearly drunk, he took a fall.  I will pay for others to bear witness that he left the whorehouse in a state… did you really have to stab him in the eye?”

“I really did.”  Jaime smiled with not one morsel of regret.

“How have you ever managed to survive this long?” Tyrion asked truly amazed at his brother’s flippant admittance to Blount’s murder.

“I could ask the same of you brother. If we are done here, I am required to meet in the Round Room.”Jaime rose to leave his brothers strange chambers, an odd room he insisted on meeting in, no windows, no hearth, and not a stitch of tapestry.  One he had built on the ruins of what had been the Tower of the Hand.

“Jaime,” Tyrion halted his brother just as Jaime put his hand on the door. “Please, be careful.  Say little, admit to nothing.”

Jaime stood silent for a moment, and left the chamber.

 

“Her Grace has been much disturbed by the murder of Blount, she refuses to leave her quarters. We will double the guard duty until more information can be gathered.” Barristan Selmy stood at the window looking out over the courtyard, as if answers could be ascertained from the bloodied stones where Blount’s head had splintered. “She suspects an assassin is in our midst, perhaps spies from the east.”  Jaime couldn’t help but feel the stares of some of his brothers on him. As if Barristan could sense the chill in the room he added, “Until more is known, I ask that we refrain from accusations.  It would serve us naught to be at each other’s throats.”

Barristan joined them at the table, and addressed them all. “There are other matters we need to discuss.  The Queen’s informants have brought more substantial report of armies rising in the east. She is calling for her banners.”

The knights seated at the table were aroused by the thought of war.  They were warring men, veterans who for too long had been left to stagnate in the tediousness of peace. “Stannis has gathered a substantial force, enemies our Queen made on her journey to reclaim her throne, and his armies are backed by the gold of the old slave cities, and several sellsword companies, he has the aid of that Red Witch of his, her magic has grown to be formidable if reports are to be believed.”  

“We will crush them.” Lorras replied with little passion.  He could have been speaking of a wedding tournament for all the excitement and worry the tenor of his voice seemed to carry.

Barristan ignored him and turned to Grey Worm, “I’ve heard he has a beast of a general leading his armies.  They call her the Pale Mare, some gladiator woman from the pits. Do you know of anyone who could have been described as such?”

“I know of no such woman.” Grey Worm replied.

Barristan grumbled, there was nothing he disliked more than feeling unprepared.  

Jaime’s thoughts drifted as the knights theorized and rambled on amongst themselves.  His fingers itched to be around a blade again, and if it was war Daenerys called for, he would be happy to wet his blade. He sighed thinking on how unlikely it would be he would see battle. Daenerys dragons would burn their ships and crisp their flesh before Stannis’ armies could land on their shores.

Barristan continued to give numerous and tedious instructions, Jaime half listened, relieved when they were finally released.

“Lannister.” Selmy called out before Jaime could depart.

“I would have words with you.”

“Well we better make this quick, there is a new dish the kitchens are preparing, I wouldn’t want to be remiss in my duties. We wouldn’t want the Queen to eat cold zorse now would we?”

Barristan was un-amused by his sarcasm, and motioned for him to return to his seat.

When they were alone Barristan gave him a measured stare, his eyes stern and lacking warmth.  It was similar to how his father would look before addressing him. “I know you killed Blount.”

With Tyrion’s words echoing in his head Jaime replied without hesitation, “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”

Barristan hardened his glare. “I don’t know what sorcery your brother worked to have you reinstated to this post Lannister, but know that I am watching you.”

“For what it’s worth, I would never have condoned your dismissal during Joffrey's reign. It was wrong of Cersei.” Jaime wasn’t sure what made him say those words to the old knight; given that the man before him was looking at him with such disregard.

Barristan paused, scepticism in his eyes like he was trying to discern Jaime’s motive.

“It was unworthy.” Jaime finished, and prepared himself for the oncoming onslaught of his ‘honour being worth shit’, and Selmy not giving two figs about his opinion on the matter.

The words from the old knight couldn’t have shocked him more, “For what it’s worth, you were a better knight than I where Aerys was concerned. You did the right thing. It took some time, but I see that now.” Barristan cleared his throat and lifted himself slowly from the table with a grimace.  It was a sharp reminder of his age.

Jaime was so taken aback he sat there mouth agape and mute.

“I’ve made a Lannister speechless.  I guess there are still new experiences to be had for this old life yet.”

“Praise and a joke from Barristan Selmy?” Jaime said recovering his senses somewhat.

Barristan allowed himself a touch of a smile to his lips.  “Blount will not be missed, but he was still your brother.  I will not have this happen again under my guard, you will answer to me personally if so much as one of them breaks a nail. Now, go do your duties, and remember.  I am watching you.”

 

Jaime nodded his head as Barristan departed. Jaime still slightly bewildered by the exchange between himself and the Lord Commander of the Queensguard sat at the table for some time wondering if he had somehow dreamt it all up.  He had been subject to ridicule and scorn since his return to the capital, the words of acknowledgement from Ser Barristan left him reeling, a feeling akin to having the wind knocked out of you after falling from your mount.

  
Jaime’s thoughts turned back to the threats of war, he prayed Stannis was able to gather up a force and somehow make it to the shores of Westeros, If he was fortunate enough he would be allowed to hold a sword again to fight in Daenerys’ army, he would beg his brother to put him on the front lines if he must.  He would be damned if he was to reach an age where he would have trouble standing from a table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how not even Selmy cares that Blount is dead...


	22. Steps of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The details of Brienne's escape.

The whore fumbled with the keys at the belt of the unconscious Moustached Man. She had struck him hard across the back of his skull, but he was breathing. Brienne still in her chains watched his back rise and fall.

“Please hurry,” Brienne said quietly, her eyes never leaving the man sprawled across the ruined carpet.

The whore scrambled to Brienne and stood on her toes as she pushed the key into the locks at her wrist, her left arm ached as she lowered the freed limb.

The whore unlocked her right hand and said, “You better be worth it Lannister.”

Brienne said nothing, wishing the woman would move quicker, the Moustached Man’s breathing changed slightly and he let out a low groan as he regained consciousness.

“Get behind me.” Brienne whispered.

The whore turned to watch the Moustached Man rise; he shook his head and blinked. She clambered behind Brienne and hastily freed her right leg.

The Moustached Man sputtered and narrowed his eyes as he charged at the whore, unsheathing a dagger from his waist, he lunged for her. Brienne grasped at his long hair, tossing him to the ground. His back landed with a hard thump knocking the wind from his lungs, as he lay there Brienne stomped at his throat and stole the dagger from his loosened grip.  Before he could yell out she slit his throat and pinned him down with her one free knee.  His eyes were wide and frightened as the blood bubbled at his lips and between his fingers where he clutched uselessly at his open wound. The cut was well delivered and Brienne kept him pinned until he expired, her eyes never leaving his.

“Can you free my other leg?” Brienne asked the whore, who was clutching the keys to her breast; she blinked and recovered quickly, setting to work on the final lock at her left ankle. As she was freed from her last bond, Brienne cleaned the bloodied dagger with the fine silks of the Moustached Man’s tunic.  

The whore tossed the keys aside and scurried about the room, throwing anything she could find of value on the center of the bed.  

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked as she dumped jewellery from a carved wooden box onto her pile.  

“What does it look like?” The whore said as she made her way to another chest, flipping it open.

“I am not a thief.” Brienne replied sternly. The whore looked at her as if she had just sprouted another head, ignoring her stare Brienne asked, “Can you get us through the city?”

The whore nodded as she threw more gold and silver upon the bed.

“We should go!” Brienne exclaimed her eyes darting to the door.

“No one will dare disturb us until late afternoon. We have time.”  The whore threw open a set of intricately carved and jewelled double doors on the other side of the room to reveal a chamber of clothing. “Fancy man,” the whore whistled as she brushed her fingers over one of the embroidered fabrics.

Brienne reluctantly grabbed a candle and joined the whore as she looked through the garments, trying to find something more practical to cover herself with.  She settled on a long black tunic and a pair of matching breeches, billowy and soft, they were too short, but felt good on her bare skin as she pulled them on. She found a wide dark blue linen scarf and wrapped it around her head. At her waist she cinched a leather belt, where she secured the dagger.

The whore gathered an arm full of silken articles and dumped them into her pile.

“It’s too much,” Brienne protested.

“You’re strong.” The whore said as she used the sheets of the bed to bundle her stolen goods. “Here!” She thrust the bundle at Brienne.

“I can get us through the city, if you can get us out of this house safely.  We should go now before the dawn breaks.”

“Agreed,” Brienne said glad the whore was finally making haste to leave. “You know my name, may I have yours?” Brienne asked as she flung the bundle over her shoulder.

“Shana.” The girl said looking outside to the darkened gardens, the muffled sounds of music and the house party drifting up from across the courtyard.

 

Brienne and Shana crept through the gardens silently, Brienne’s hand on the hilt of her dagger, as her other gripped the make shift sack Shana had created.  Brienne lead the way as they gingerly pressed out deeper into the courtyard, every press of her sole to the gravel felt monstrously loud. Her eyes darted about in the darkness and she made her breath as shallow and light as possible. They made it to the outer yard before spying a guard patrolling the interior of the wall. Brienne handed the sack to Shana.  The woman took the bundle and gripped it with both hands, the weight visibly causing her shoulders to slump.

Brienne crouched against the manicured bushes and waited for the guard to approach. When he passed she jumped up from behind and sliced at him with the dagger, not wanting to risk losing the weapon by stabbing him. Her movements were precise and deadly, she allowed for no opportunity for him to cry out, and when he was vanquished she had a proper sword.  Brienne dragged the man into the bushes hoping it would be enough.

Taking the sack of goods from Shana they continued for the wall.

Brienne threw the bundle over the wall and reached up, her finger tips barely able to grasp the top of the stone wall. She scrambled and pulled herself up, once seated at the top she reached down for Shana, pulling her up easily. Brienne dropped down and helped Shana with her descent.  Shana gathered the bundle of stolen goods and turned to Brienne.  “Come!”

Brienne’s heart was thumping against her chest; her pulse was quickened from the exertion and the excitement of the evening.  She was beyond the control of her captors, she was no longer a slave, and she was taking her first steps back home, to her children, and to Jaime.

“We have to go!” Shana exclaimed again, her arms frantically motioning for Brienne to move. “Walk. We don’t want to draw more attention to ourselves than necessary.” Shana cautioned.

Brienne nodded as she wrapped the scarf around her face. Glad to have the added cover. She followed Shana through the streets; it was a disorienting trip as they veered in all directions turning down many narrow corridors. Brienne could only trust that the woman knew where she was going.

“Wait here.” Shana commanded as they stopped suddenly. “See that knotted rope?” She asked pointing to a barely visible rope dangling over the door of a humble dwelling. “They will help us.”  Shana examined the knot before rapping on the door, a succession of three light taps with her knuckles. They waited silently for the door to open, with no signs of anyone answering. Brienne was getting anxious and about to suggest they move on when finally there were sounds of shuffling from within. The door opened and an elderly man emerged, his wrinkled face illuminated by the light of a lantern he held in his shaky hand.

Shana said a few words to man before she dug into the sack Brienne was carrying, pulling out several of the items stuffed inside; she wrapped the goods in one of the silks and pressed it into his arms. The man took the bundle inside, and returned shortly with a leather satchel. Without a word he closed and locked his door and together they stepped out into the streets.

They arrived at a second dwelling pressed against the city walls the women followed the elderly man inside as he unlocked and opened the door, Brienne ducked under the low door frame. Inside was a small simply furnished room, several people lay on woven mats, they blinked sleepily as the trio entered, Brienne held her scarves closer to her face and nodded apologetically as they passed. They were lead into an adjacent room, at the opposite wall lay a curtain, the elderly man parted the curtain to reveal a tunnel. He handed a small lantern to Brienne along with his leather satchel, and motioned for her to proceed down the tunnel.  He said a few words to Shana before they ventured into the darkened passage that dipped below the city walls.  

The tunnel walls felt tighter and tighter, constricting her movements the deeper they progressed; it became so narrow she could no longer turn to see how Shana was fairing behind her. She could hear the woman curse as she struggled with the sack of stolen goods. Brienne was beginning to worry she would not be able to continue with the journey as she was forced to crawl the further they went. Blessedly her panic abated as the yellow glow from the lanterns light bounced off a small wooden plank, signalling they had reached the end.  Brienne pressed her hand against the wood, pushing it free. Fresh night filled her lungs as she looked upwards beyond the tunnel walls, a smile spread across her lips as she was greeted by the sight of a beautiful dark blue sky, with only a few dim morning stars lingering above. She jostled out of the tunnel and turned back to assist Shana through.

Once free Shana covered the hole they had crawled out of with the plank; using her hands she scraped earth over the board, hiding the tunnel below.

Brienne looked to her right where over the horizon a sliver of light cut through the darkness, the promise of a sunrise. She turned to the darkened West, where her home lay and thought of Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we know how she escaped, now for the rest. Think we might stick with Brienne for the the next chapter as well.
> 
> Thank-you to all of those who read and comment. I love you to bits! Happy holidays, and hopefully we'll get back to more regular updating!


	23. The Sway of Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne realizes how far she has traveled, and how far she has yet to go.

The further north they travelled the longer the grass became, and as the blades grew thicker, greener, and taller than Brienne’s head did she finally begin to breathe easier, and feel that she was safely away from the nightmare she had been living in.

Each step brought her further from the slavery she had suffered, and the spectacle she had been forced to play at.  Her stomach growled fiercely, but she was loath to stop.  The feeling of moving forward and her feet carrying her closer to home was too thrilling.

Shana collapsed to the ground with a grunt.

“Are you hurt?” Brienne dropped the bundle of goods and turned to gather the woman from where she fell.

Shana held her arms out for Brienne to halt, she shook her head ‘no’.  “I’m sorry, I need a drink.”

Brienne hunted through the leather satchel the elderly man had given them, inside were meagre supplies of water, bread, fruit, and a folded parchment.  Brienne handed the container over to Shana, and thought. _We will need to find water to replenish soon._ While the woman drank Brienne unfolded the paper to reveal a map of sorts, small inked dots on yellowed paper that resembled...

 _Stars._ Brienne thought with a smile as she gently moved her fingertips over the parchment.

Brienne was so entranced with the map she failed to notice Shana dumping the water on one of the linens from the bundle.

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked astonished by the waste.

“I’m washing my face!” Shana replied as she smeared the damp cloth over her forehead and cheeks.

“Stop!” Brienne shouted, “That is all we have.”

“We are in the Dothraki Sea.  How do you think this grass stays so green? There will be more water.” Shana dumped more of the water on her cloth and continued to wash her neck.

Brienne turned and marvelled at how far she had travelled, her heart sank with the realization of how far away from home she truly was.

“Where are we?” Brienne asked.

“There are no places here.” Shana replied.

Brienne suddenly felt weak, she sat in the dirt and asked, “Where were we? What city?”

“New Mereen.” Shana replied taking the bread from the satchel. “Built on the burnt ruins of the old city.  Your dragon Queen did that.” Shana broke a piece of the bread and handed it to Brienne.

Brienne chewed on the bread, her hunger intensified.  _This will not be enough._ She thought. She examined the washed face of the woman; cleared of her paint she appeared even more familiar.  “You are the woman from the auction!” Brienne exclaimed, finally realizing where she had set eyes on her before. She had been the second one on the block.

The woman shrugged.  “I suppose my face isn’t as memorable as some.”

Brienne couldn’t ascertain as to whether or not the woman meant it as an insult, ignoring the comment she said, “I thank you for helping me.”

The woman smiled slightly, “Well you were shouting ‘Lannister’ plenty. I’m hoping your husband wants you back.”

“Your grandchildren will have more gold than they can spend in their lifetime,” Brienne replied certain she spoke true. Jaime loved her and the reward for her safe return would be great.

“Are you married to the imp?”

“Gods no!” Brienne exclaimed.

“Ah, so the Kingslayer is it?”

“Don’t call him that.” Brienne’s tone was sharp, and her blue eyes seared at the woman.

“Apologies,” Shana said quietly taking another bite from her bread.

“Jaime.”

The woman nodded. “I thought he was a White Cloak. However did you come to be married?”

Brienne had never known the particulars of his dismissal from the Kingsguard, it had involved words with his sister, and where she was concerned conversation did not come easily. She wondered had Cersei Lannister lived if his heart would have ever have found hers.

“It is a long story.”

“We have time..” Shana gestured. “It will be a long walk.”

 _Horses_ , Brienne thought.   _We will need horses._

“We’ve rested long enough.” Brienne packed up their supplies, threw the satchel around her shoulder, and the sack behind her.

They walked for hours until the sun was low in the sky. Brienne offered to take the first watch.  She ate what remained of their bread and wondered what her little ones were eating.  She wondered if Jaime thought her dead, and how he would fare if he believed her truly gone.  

 _Perhaps Torgys had somehow gotten word back to Tarth, as he said he would._  It was a foolish thought, but it came nonetheless. Shana had been sleeping for only a few hours when Brienne felt her eyelids becoming heavy, she shook her head and took a small sip of water. The woman was a mystery, yet she seemed to know so much of her.  The Lannister name was a famous one, known throughout Westeros, and beyond.   _Perhaps it is just the famed Lannister gold she is after._ The woman had risked much to save her from her bonds; she was greatly indebted to her, regardless of her motives.

She wanted to continue their journey once the sun had set and knew she too would require rest; she knelt down to where Shana slept and gently shook her shoulder. The woman jumped and looked around bewildered. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, but I will need to take watch.  Please wake me when the sun has set completely.”

Brienne lay on the earthen floor, staring up at the blue sky above, the blades of emerald grass swayed all around.  Closing her eyes she fell asleep listening to the quiet sounds of the grass in the wind, it almost sounded like the waves breaking on the distant shores at Tarth.

 

_“Brienne” The back of his knuckles lightly brushed her temple._

_“Hmm?” She responded sleepily._

_“Thank-you.”_

_“For?”  Sometimes he would get in these curious moods. Quiet and contemplative._

_“For loving a wretch like me.”  He whispered into her ear, kissing gently at her lobe._

_She placed her hands on his face, a beautiful perfectly chiselled form, one she knew no woman such as herself had any reason to be caressing so. “You are no wretch. You are my husband, and I thank-you Ser.”_

_His green eyes warmed with a flash of that brilliant smile.  He was a man blessed with so many charms. Whatever did he see in her? How had she won his heart?_

_Jaime’s love was warm, his love was fierce, his love terrified her at times, it was consuming and deep._

_He leaned into her and the press of his lips to hers was too good, too sweet…_

 

It awoke her from her dream.

The blades of grass dancing around her were now drenched in a golden hue, the sun was setting in the west.

Shana whispered in her ear. “There are people approaching.”

Brienne’s hand went for the sword that lay beside her; she quieted her breathing and willed her heart to stop beating so frantically.  Listening she could hear the murmuring of men and women, the laughter of a child. When she heard the nicker of a horse she rose to her feet, blade in hand and called out, “Here!”

Shana looked at her wide-eyed and hissed, “What are you doing?”

“We need horses.” Brienne answered tightening her grip around the hilt of her sword she waited for whoever was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear god what have I done? Is this story getting boring? Tell me true! Oh never mind, I don't care. I'm going to finish it dammit!


	24. Two Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation in the Dothraki Sea.

Three mounted Dothraki men delivered hard stares at them, arakhs in hand. They leered down at the duo with suspicion, to their credit they did not laugh at her like most men did when they realized she was a woman with a sword.  Shana was crouched behind her, her eyes darting to the men that surrounded them.  

 

“Can you speak to them?” Brienne asked.

“Don’t you think you should have asked me that before drawing them here?” Shana hissed back.

Brienne’s head snapped to the right, two more mounted Dothraki joined their ranks.  Five men now encircled them.  If they chose to attack now she was less confident she could take them, certainly not confident she could keep Shana alive if they chose to attack her in the midst of the melee.  

“Show them your goods.” Brienne said in a low tone.

Shana let out a small whine, the woman did not like the suggestion, slowly and reluctantly she unfurled the bundle, as she dumped the contents to the ground, a cacophony of jewels, gold, silver, and silks spilled onto the earth.

Brienne nodded down to the goods, and made a gesture she hoped would illustrate they were welcomed to it.

The largest man seated on the mightiest black stallion curled his lips slightly and nodded to the man at his right, who jumped down and sauntered over to the spilled goods.  Brienne backed away from him as he inspected the pile. He gathered the gold, jewels, and silver back into the sheet, leaving the colourful silks in the dirt and walked back to his horse.

“Wait!” Shana protested, running after him, the man barely turned and delivered a backhanded blow to Shana, smacking her across the face, the attack had been enough to knock her down to the ground.

Brienne charged at him and unsheathed her sword.  He raised his arakh to block her strike; she had battled many Dothraki in the pits and knew the motion to disarm an arakh easily.  The movement was fluid and quick.  The man watched in shock as his weapon flew into the air, disappearing in the distance of the tall grass.  Angrily he charged at Brienne, she side stepped his charge delivering the broad side of her sword to the back of his skull.  She could have killed him, but did not want to incite the revenge of the others.  The Dothraki on their horses laughed as their comrade shook his head, disoriented and growling from where he fell.  

The largest Dothraki smiled, his dark eyes appraising Brienne, not turning from her he called out and made a motion with his arm.  From the tall grasses a bronze skinned woman emerged, she grabbed the horse of the fallen man, and led him to Brienne.

The man who had fallen looked miserable as he gathered up the spilled goods and returned on foot to follow behind the woman.  

The large Dothraki man said something to her and kicked his right foot to turn his horse.

“I will have another horse.” Brienne said, she held up two fingers in hopes it would better illustrate her meaning.

“One horse is enough. What are you doing?” Shana said from behind her.

Brienne reaffirmed, “Another horse.”

The large Dorthraki man chuckled, as he surveyed his men with a raised eyebrow.  A look that seemed to say, ‘will any of you accept the challenge?’

 

The men shifted on their mounts.  It was a challenge that was not quickly accepted.  Brienne felt a small measure of pride that she had made such an impression. The large Dothraki uttered something again in a disgusted tone, whatever he said his words had an effect.  Not wanting to be shamed, a single rider jumped down from his horse. Brienne knew she would not be afforded the same element of surprise with this one.

The man was of her height, he crouched and swayed as he advanced slowly, his face was calm, but his eyes narrowed on her murderously.

 _This one will be more of a challenge._ Brienne thought as she readied herself, she would wait for his attack, steeling herself for a lengthier more defensive fight.

He ran and leaped at her unexpectedly shouting up into the air with surprising speed. Brienne raised her blade to meet his. Sparks flew as the metals of their weapons clashed out in a terrible ring. He hailed blow upon blow in a frenzy of strikes, he would kill her if she afforded him the opportunity. Her defensive blocks came as reflex, he was as quick as Jaime she though in astonishment. The man was fierce; his arakh slipped from one of her blocks a sliver of a cut she barely felt touched her arm, drawing first blood. His face became angrier the more she evaded and blocked his attacks.  He pushed and pressed her back further into the grasses, their spectators forced to move with them. As the fight continued Brienne began to recognize the patterns of his attacks, anticipating another leaping attack she bent her knee and braced her sword.  As he came down attacking with an overhead swing Brienne twisted her torso away, her head barely evading his blow, she pressed her blade into his torso.  His eyes widened in shock as he realized her sword was buried deep into his trunk. She planted her foot upon him as she pulled the blade free.  Dark blood coated the steel; she slit the man's throat, ending him.

The task complete she looked up to the Large Dorthraki, the smile that had been planted on his face had vanished.  His dark eyes smoldered with fury, but there was a hint of something else there as well.

 _Respect?_ Brienne thought as she stood before him her chest heaving with exertion, her left sleeve wet and sticky with blood.

The Large Dothraki jumped from his black steed, Brienne’s hand tightened around her hilt, but she made no further movement. The Large Dothraki went to her vanquished opponent’s horse and brought it to her.  The horse whickered and snorted in protest as he was brought forth.  From around his chest he uncorked a flask, and drank, wiping his lips with the back of his hand he offered her the vessel. The other horse lords seemed to react strongly to the gesture.

Brienne taking the flask smelled the contents before drinking; her tongue was greeted with a sour yet sweet flavour. Pressing the flask to her lips she drank more. The liquid was strange, thick and milky; as she swallowed the Large Dorthraki grinned and turned back to his horse.  Mounting his stallion the others followed them back into the tall grasses, leaving Shana, Brienne, and the two horses she had earned.

 

Shana was the first to break the silence. “Let me see your arm.”

Brienne sat in the earth and allowed Shana to roll up her sleeve.  The wound was weeping blood, but it did not appear to be that deep.  Shana gathered what remained of her silks and brought them to Brienne. Shana tore one of the precious silks into long strips.  Taking another sip of the strange drink the Large Dothraki had left her with, Brienne handed it to Shana.  “Here use this to clean the wound”.   

Shana poured the milky fluid over her cut, there was a slight sting, but in her life she had been hurt far worse.  Shana wrapped the cleaned wound tightly with a bright red strip of silk. The colour reminded Brienne of Lannister red.

“We will have to change the bandages again in the morning.  Gather what you can find, and let us be off.”  Brienne rose from the ground and attempted to whisper to her new horse, patting his coarse mane she said softly. “We can be friends.” Brienne looked upwards to the sky; the first stars were becoming visible as the setting sun bloomed swirls of ambers and pinks in the west. “I’m coming home Jaime.” Brienne whispered. “I’m coming home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. New Year's was a bit of a hindrance in my creativity, and I fried my laptop. I still don't know if it survived the zapping it received. :(
> 
> Next chapter will be Jaime, Arya, or the kids at Casterly Rock. I'm open to suggestions if anyone has a preference. I love non-linear story-telling. Please let me know if its been clear thus far.
> 
> Happy New Year to you all! Lots of love!


	25. Never Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war drums are pounding in the distance, Tyrion is trying his best to prepare, and Jaime could care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Tamjlee who requested a 'Jaime' chapter!

Jaime had forgone the spooned hand long ago, but his duties remained the same. Whenever her royal stomach demanded food he would drudge up to her quarters, pop a morsel into his mouth, and wait until she was satisfied. It was more likely that Daenerys would strike up conversation with a piece of furniture in the room before she would address him directly, and Jaime had found that arrangement of silence towards him much to his liking.

“Well then why don’t you?” Jaime replied.  It was a foolish thing to say, foolish and insolent but he found as the days dragged on his resolve to be a silent devourer of the Queen’s dishes becoming more difficult.

“Guards.” Daenery’s commanded, “Seize Jaime Lannister.”

Grey Worm and Swann approached him without hesitation, grabbing him by the arms.  They were not overly forceful, but they were obedient and held him firmly in place.

Jaime smirked, wondering which one he should kill first. _Grey Worm, he is slight and quick, do not want that man at my back…_

“Your Grace,” Tyrion pleaded with Daenerys.

“Silence!” Her eyes darted to Tyrion who sat with her, before them were piles of maps and scrolls, correspondences with faithful houses offering support in the coming war.  The Queen rarely slept insisting she be present for any discussions relating to Stannis and his movements.  She no longer trusted the Small Council to handle matters without her. All meetings were to take place within her rooms.  The only person she seemed to regard with any esteem was Tyrion.  Jaime’s presence was threatening that precarious relationship as of late.

“You are the only reason he lives.” Daenerys said to Tyrion her eyes flickering back to Jaime.  “I see the way he looks at me, and now he dares speak to me in that manner? I should end you.” She repeated.

“I wish you would,” Jaime said.  The sincerity in his words numbed him.  It had been the wrong thing to say.  Daenery’s smiled sweetly, a dark look in her eyes.

“That would be to your liking?” Daenerys returned to her seat and delivered a morsel into her mouth. A red honeyed root vegetable. She chewed and swallowed. “Unhand him.”

 _Her mannerisms, the shift in mood, this was Aeryes Targaryen,_ Jaime thought with a chill.   _Aeryes Targaryen with tits and two dragons._ The chill he felt sunk deeper into his bones.

As Swann and Grey Worms grips left his arms he could feel Tyrion’s eyes focus on him, his expression begged him to stay silent.

“Jaime Lannister, you will serve me until we are both old and grey, until we no longer have teeth and they have to mash up my food, and I plan to live a very long time.”  Daenery’s said with assertion, pushing her plate away. “Now tell me.  What word is there?”

Tyrion cleared his throat, “Reports north-east of Myr, and sightings of galleys in the north near…” Daenery’s seemed distracted; her eyes darted about the room like she was searching for something. Tyrion realized he wasn’t being fully listened to but continued. “… Lys, I have look outs posted at Estermont, Rain House, Griffon’s Roost, and other ports along the coast. They will signal if a war fleet is spotted near our shores, a chain reaction to alert the capital.  If we see those signals I would highly suggest you take flight with Viserion...”

“I will not take my dragon.” Daenerys said her voice cold and unrelenting, yet Tyrion pressed on.

“Your Grace.  Stannis armies will come from the waters. You could sweep in and light fire to his ships before..”

“No!” Her dark eyes flashed violently at Tyrion. “I will not risk my children again.  Never again.” She stood abruptly, the movement upsetting her water, splashing Tyrion’s face along with the maps and other documents on the table. Her hands were clutched to her side in small fists; she had a look about her like she would strike him.    

Jaime prepared himself to lunge at her if she made a move for his brother, Queensguard be damned, he would open her throat with a paring knife if she dared touch him. Tyrion looked to Jaime, the small gesture he made with his hand halting him, silently requesting he be still.

“Drogon.” Daenery’s murmured sadly beneath her breath.  “I’m finished for today; we can further discuss this in the morning.” Daenerys turned her back to them all.  Tyrion opened his mouth as if to say something, but thinking better of it, collected a few of his drenched scrolls and prepared to leave.  Jaime followed his brother, leaving Swann and Grey Worm to guard the door.

As they progressed down the outer corridors towards the yards Jaime asked, “Dear Gods how long has she been like this?”

“Not here.” Tyrion said, his eyes looking about, “Not here.”

Jaime bit his lip and walked beside Tyrion. “Slow your pace brother.  No need to rush with me.”

Tyrion slowed slightly as they travelled towards his quarters. Fortunately it was a short trek to his strange tower that sat in the middle of his gardens.  No windows, no fireplace, just a round bare room with shelves of books, and a wooden table overflowing with stacks of parchment, and a large trunk under the stairs.  

“How long have you noticed her mind slipping?” Jaime asked as Tyrion poured water for them both. Jaime accepted the glass, wishing his brother still drank wine.

“In truth? Shortly after Drogon. She was never quite the same after his death.” Tyrion sipped and continued. “Before that she was fierce, level, intelligent, and yet she possessed a certain kindness.  I had truly thought that she was the answer for us all. A fair and just ruler, one with a legitimate claim to the throne, and she had dragons to guarantee and solidify a long peace for us all.

“Seems like sound reasoning for supporting her.” Jaime offered.

“Well, that and she was my best way home at the time.” Tyrion smiled somberly.

“How many do you suspect know of her madness outside of this court?”

“I’ve done my best to hide it, convinced her in holding meetings with only a select few, primarily with only me if possible, but that may have only made it worse… she trusts no one now.”

“Have you attempted diplomacy?”

“With Stannis Baratheon?” Tyrion scoffed.

Jaime pressed his lips tightly together and thought _fair point._

“Are you willing to hand over the Kingdom to Stannis?” Jaime asked.

“No.” Tyrion said firmly.

“Well then what do you propose?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion sat mute, his face conflicted with thought. “The players may have changed, but the game is still the same.”

“That has never interested me.  Much prefer the fight, more to the point, as it were.”

“Well not all of us are blessed with the traits required for that game. Besides, I much prefer my game. It lasts longer.”

Jaime thought of arguing further with Tyrion on that point, _Robert, Ned Stark, Cersei… all dead players.  Each house suffered great losses during the wars, and now the board is set to play it all over again. I feel this may be my last… I wish Brienne were here by my side._

“We must convince the Queen to use her dragons. It is the best way to end this before it begins.” Tyrion interrupted his morose thoughts, “If we can anticipate where he is to land, we can destroy his fleets.  I know it.”

“Providing you can coax Daenerys from coddling her beasts behind her skirts.” It was absurd to think of a ruler having the only known Dragons in the lands and not using them. Still the threat of dragons did not seem to be enough to prevent Stannis from marching his war path, _perhaps Stannis is half mad himself._

“If things go poorly you must be here Jaime.” Tyrion looked at Jaime with pleading eyes.

“I wish to be on the field where I belong. I’ve lost much; you will not deny me that.”

“Jaime…”

“If you want her dead find someone else to do it. Or do it yourself. I will not go down that path again.” Every night when Jaime rested his head he thought on whether he could be capable of killing Daenerys Targaryen, the answer always came to ‘yes’, but would he? Brienne would never have done it, would not have entertained the notion.  It had helped him settle on his answer.  Their children were safely away.  He could do as he damned well pleased and die a knight of the Queensguard, and not be remembered as her killer, not leave his children that dark legacy as well. Jaime prepared himself for an argument with his brother. Instead Tyrion surprised him with the words.

“Fine, if it is the frontlines you crave, to end yourself stupidly on a battlefield for a Queen I have to beg daily for your life.”

“It is.” Jaime said.

“Fine.” Tyrion looked weary, “There are others to consider.”

“You keep your word where my children are concerned. Promise me that.” Jaime said.

“I do. You’ve no need to worry there. Damnit Jaime I wish you’d reconsider.  You didn’t die on the bottom of that ocean floor too.”

“Didn’t I?” Jaime stood and left his brother to ponder his schemes in solitude, happy to be taking himself out of his game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably give this chapter a once over again later tonight or tomorrow. My usual sounding board is snoring away and I don't have the heart to wake him. Apologies for any foolish errors on my part.
> 
> Like Tyrion I'm just setting up my pieces. :)


	26. Black Wings and a Golden Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry arrive at The Rock, and Arya is forced to get creative to deliver a message to Sansa.

The castle lived up to its named.  It was hard, craggily, and impressive. It towered above the surrounding lands and seemed to glow as the setting sun cast honyed coloured hues across the cliffs at its base. The castle reflected golden light as if proclaiming the wealth and power of the famous family who occupied it. Only it wasn’t just Lannisters that were housed within, it was her sister too.  

 

 _She may be married to the imp lion, but Sansa is a wolf.  Like me,_ Arya thought.

“Come on,” she said to Gendry, plowing through the snow.

“What’s the rush? I’m pretty sure its not going anywhere.” Gendry said beside her, breath fogging around his face as he looked up to regard the castle sitting before them.

Arya continued to press on, as Gendry followed.  Her heart beat frantically, she tried not to think of the time when she had once been so close to her mother when she was Lady Catelyn, before the red wedding, before her murder. She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, like something dark like that could happen again.

 

They were denied entry at the outer gates. Beyond them lay a snow covered rocky path leading upwards towards the Rock, but they were not permitted to pass.

“Told you they wouldn’t be interested in a blacksmith. They probably get hundreds a day coming to these gates begging for work, begging for food. Sitting up there stuffing themselves in their fancy castle while we starve and freeze.” Gendry said. “Why don’t you just tell them you’re Arya Stark?”

Arya hissed at him, “Not so loud!” Her anger drew a stare from one of the guards. The sight of their Lannister armour made her venomous.  Sansa was in there, her flawless sister who always said and did the right thing. The perfect little lady.  Now a woman grown, married, and Lady of the Rock.  To Arya it seemed more of a prison , to be some mans token, a claim to Winterfell, that life was of no interest of her.  The grisly rumours of what had happened to false Stark girls were rampant in the north.  She did not trust these Lannisters, and would not have them knowing a legitimate Stark was at their gates.

“Come on.”

“You know that is all you ever seem to say to me.  I’m not some puppy dog for you to command.”

“A dog is smarter.” Arya said moving from the gates.

“Have I offended you in some way?”  Gendry predictably followed her.

He hadn’t.  He had slowed her down, but it felt good to travel alongside someone she could trust.  He hadn’t deserved her chilly behavior, but Arya was not very good with people anymore. She had learned it was dangerous to get too close to anyone, and to let someone get close to you.

Gendry shrugged away her silence and asked, “What are you going to do?”

“I need paper, and ink.”

 

They had no coin, but Gendry offered to split logs in exchange for a warm meal, and somewhere to sleep for the evening, they also requested a small bit of paper and ink,

Arya pushed the stale bread into her mouth, chewing on the hard crust as she stared at the blank paper, searching for the words that would draw her sister from her tower.   There was a large well central in the village.  It was surely a place she would know, deciding it was the best place for them to meet she grabbed her quill. But convincing words would not come, after some time on thinking what to write she hurriedly scribbled...

 

_Sansa. Meet me at the big well in the center of the village. Or  I will tar your hair in your sleep._

_– Arya_

 

She had not practiced her letters in so long, and could not be sure she had spelled all the words correctly.  She swallowed the softened bland mass of bread in her mouth and rolled the scroll up, breaking a thread from her coat she wrapped the scroll tightly.

The man who owned the inn stepped outside his boots crunching lightly on the soft snow. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Going to be a cold one tonight, you’re doing a good job lad, but I’m only taking you and your sister in for the night, can’t spare the food.  I’m sorry.”

Gendry nodded his head in understanding.

Arya scoffed.   _These southerners don’t know winter_.  She thought.   _When the wind is so cold it stabs at your lungs with each breath, and when frost sticks to your skin making it ache, when you pray that pain never goes away because when it goes numb, that it when you know you’re in trouble_.  She had been forced to shed one of her outer coats, It had proven to be too warm for all her layers this far south.

“That is fine.  We’ll be supping and resting at the Rock this time tomorrow.” Arya grinned at the man.

The man laughed and shook his head as he returned back inside to the warmth of his inn.

Gendry returned to splitting logs, the crack of the wood he quartered echoing sharply. His shoulders and arms seemed broader than ever.  A sheen of sweat drenched his face, and wet black hairs plastered his forehead. His mouth grimaced as he raised the axe again above him throwing the head down unto another log, halving the wood, he returned it on the block to be split again.

“Gendry.”  Arya stopped him before he could raise the axe. She walked towards him as he looked at her with questioning eyes.  “I have something for you.”

Pressing the scroll into his palm she continued, “I will need you to tie this to the leg of a raven.”

“Did you hit your head?” He asked. “How am I to catch a raven?”

“The raven will come to you.  Tie that to its leg. It will deliver this message to my sister.”

“I don’t think you remember how ravens work.” He stared at her blankly.

Arya sighed.  “Just trust me.” She turned away from him and lay in the wood shed they had been offered as shelter.

“Oh I can see how you need a rest! All the work you’ve been doing!” He called after her as she ignored him and settled into the blankets of fur, listening for birds.

The sounds of the winter birds were sparse, but they were there,  the shriek of a jay, the song of a cardinal, and then she heard the guttural call of a raven close by. Her mind slipped away, searching, and Arya became the raven. She flapped her black wings, lifting herself from the snowy bow of the cedar and took to the air, above the trees she listened for the sounds of wood being cut.  Recognizing the inn she fluttered downwards towards where Gendry split his logs. Settling on a pile of splintered branches, she spied her own still figure bundled up in the shed. Turning her head back towards Gendry she let out a piercing caw, Gendry stopped mid-swing and turned towards her.  He stared at the bird in astonishment, mouth open, brow furrowed, he looked to her motionless body bundled up in the shed and then back to the bird. He shook his head and returned to his work.

Arya the raven flew closer to Gendry and screeched again.  She stood on one leg, hoping he would understand her intent.

“Seven Hells,” He whispered as he drew closer to the bird, taking the scroll from where he had tucked it inside his belt. “Its you isn’t it?” Gendry wrapped the small thread around her leg, gingerly fastening the scroll.  Arya the raven’s small dark eyes blinked at him, satisfied he was finished she flew off towards Casterly Rock.

 

The castle was huge and virtually empty.  There were a few lit windows on the lower levels, and fewer still in the upper towers.  Arya went first to the lit windows that faced north. Her intuitions proved wise as she nestled on a snow covered ledge.  Lighting candles inside was a slight female form, a burst of red hair illuminated by the light.  Sansa carried her candle over to a small table and chair, book resting in her arm. Arya the raven tapped on the glass with her beak, flapped her dark wings, and cawed in hopes her sister would come to the window.

 

 

Sansa jumped, startled by the commotion the bird was creating, ignoring it she returned to her book, a dull affair of family houses and their histories. “Best to know your enemies,” Sansa whispered as she dragged her finger across the name Bolton. The bird tapped against the window again, its shrill call becoming louder still, the noise it made was beyond ignoring. Sansa set her book down and strode to the window.  The room was warm with a great fire in the hearth, and she was loath to open the window to let in the chill, let alone a maniac bird, she did her best to spy it through the murky frosted glass. “What do you want?” Sansa said, laughing at herself for talking to a dumb bird. She was about to shout at it to scare it away when she noticed the small parchment attached to its leg.  Sansa unlatched the window, and opened it slightly,  the black raven blinked at her, silent and waiting.  Securing the window, Sansa cautiously reached out her pale hands and unthreaded the parchment from the birds ankle, once removed the raven jumped up and flew away into the darkening winter sky.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of love writing these glimpses into the past. I hope you like them too.


	27. The Burning Stag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis and Melisandre? Whaaaaat??
> 
> Back to Brienne or Jaime next chapter.... promise!

“I see sapphire eyes, a tall knight rides in from the east, beware the lion.”

Stannis has become accustomed to Melisandre’s riddled prophecies over the years, but found them no less infuriating. He had trusted in her throughout it all, the wars in the south, the wars in the north, their fleeing into the east, and with every passing year she promised _“soon”_ , the time would be _“soon”._

Davos would have steered him differently.  The Onion Knight and would be Hand would never have encouraged his dealings with the slavers. He could almost hear the old smugglers voice in his head, _“No one will accept a King using slaves as his soldiers.”_

He also would have advised him to stay in the north, to dig in and be remembered a just and noble soldier, the only King who answered the call of the wall.  Stannis scoffed, that may have been true, but his bones would have been buried in the snow along with the other unfortunate men he could not take with him. Instead he listened to her, Melisandre. Whatever may come he had cast his lot in completely with her, he was too far gone to turn back now.

She had convinced him his time had not yet come, that the Kingdom and the fates of men needed him.  A darker time was coming, a darker period that made that strange winter look like high noon, he had left thinking of Shireen and her claim, had allowed that Targaryen woman to take what he had toiled for all those bitter and cold months in the north, fighting wights, others, and those northern wretches who dared to fail to see the futility of their own intrigues and petty wars.  

The Dragon Queen had swooped in, and taken the Kingdom for her own, an easy path he had cleared, she claimed all his victories as her own.  Now she sat on his throne, her mind slipping with each passing day by all accounts.  The people would need a strong ruler again, and soon they would have it. Soon.

Her lithe figure turned towards him, the flames dancing around her form blocking the light and casting liquid shadows on the walls inside the tent.  Her face was as unlined as the day he met her.  Long thick red hair, hair that lacked a single silvery strand, yet what little hair he had left to him was peppered with more white than black. When she moved each stride was with a grace he had never seen matched by any woman.  She lifted up her red skirts, revealing two lovely opaline legs, she straddled him in his chair, wrapping her arms about his shoulders.  He pressed his palms to her smooth warm skin, squeezing her exposed thighs with his fingers.  

“By the turn of the next moon you will be sitting on your throne My King,” She leaned into him, her breath tickling his ear as she whispered and licked at the lobe.  His face sunk into her soft red hair, she smelled of cinnamon and smoke.  Turning his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder he kissed and bit her lightly as she worked at his breeches, loosening his laces.  He let out a gravelly moan as she guided his cock into the warm slick folds of her sex. Their eyes locking to each others as she sat upon him, gyrating her hips into his.  Each movement a blissful misery.  There had been a time when he convinced himself he fucked the Red Woman for a greater good.  Her magic would secure him what he desired, but that had been years ago, and now he just fucked her, the small stab of guilt in his guts never went away, despite the encouragement from his own lady wife.

Queen Selyse was far away with their daughter, he did not allow his thoughts to drift of them often, but when he did he felt nothing but burden.

He was a man, he had desires, and Lady Selyse herself wanted a son born from this woman, a son she could claim as her own.  

“You’ve been promising my throne for years woman,” He rasped as her pace quickened.

“I could have ended the Dragon Queen many times over, but you’ve refused me each time,” She smiled with a knowing grin.

Infuriated by the conflict between his groin and heart Stannis lifted her off of him and pushed her away.

“You will not have my daughter.  That will never happen.  Speak of it again, just once more and I will take your head myself.” Stannis said with a low but firm voice.

The Red Woman nodded solemnly, “Of course your Grace. Then we must be patient.”

Stannis tied the laces of his breeches sat back in his chair and let out a frustrated sigh.   _Patience. She dare use that word with me?_ He thought as he surveyed the maps before him.  I’ve waited long, too long. He had thousands on march, a collection of outlaws, bandits, slave soldiers and sellsword company cut throats. Enemies the Dragon Queen had collected during her own warpath back to Westeros.  There were men who wanted revenge, others who wanted forgiveness, pardons and a return to their own homes and lands, claims they lost by not supporting the Targaryen when she first took the throne. He had made many promises to return those claims if they served faithfully, if they helped him secure his throne.

_But what good was an army of men against dragons? They would be like match sticks marching against a hearth._

“What makes you certain she won’t unleash her dragons upon us?”  Stannis growled.

“I’ve seen it in the flames.  The dragons are in darkness, kept chained while their mother cowers in her chambers.”

Stannis drew in a strained breath and rapped his knuckle on the wooden desk. Her visions were like the images that appeared on the hardened earth of the desert.  Tricky and woefully deceptive, she may see truths, but sometimes those truths proved fleeting.

“Your Grace.” Came a call from outside his tent.

“Go see what it is.” He demanded.

Melisandre lifted the door of the tent, brushing it away with the back of her hand.

“What is it?” She asked the soldier.

“I’m sorry I have a message for King Stannis.”

Melisandre looked to him, he nodded and motioned for the soldier to be let in.  Hoping that it would be news from his spies in the west.

“Pardons your Grace. There is an ugly strange woman, very tall," The man paused, unsure if he should continue.

"Go on!" Stannis exlaimed.

"She says she wishes to speak to the murderer of Renly Baratheon.”

Melisandre rarely held an expression of surprise, but there it was etched on her pale face, a single eyebrow raised in astonishment.

Stannis stood abruptly from the table, the upper part of his legs slamming into the wood, causing him to wince.  In anger he asked, “Do I appear to be the kind to respond to the whim of every mad man or woman who stumbles into these camps? Get rid of her.  I should have you imprisoned for daring to bother me with this foolishness.”

“We tried to remove her your Grace, but she is…” The soldier stood before him mouth agape as he searched for words.

“Spit it out!” Stannis yelled at him.  His foul mood deepening

“She also claims to be the Dragonslayer. She is a terrific fighter, I’m inclined to believe her.” The man said. “It took eight of us to pin her down.  She killed three. We could have ended her, but I thought you might like to speak with her... she requested to have words with you, and told me to relay the message about your brother.”

Stannis stood and blinked in disbelief, Melisandre turned to the soldier and asked. “What colour are her eyes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I am without a sounding board before posting this chapter. You can thank my lovely daughter who threw up all over me at day care today. So now we are home, and I had time to write this!


	28. The Dark Look of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn of who 'Shana' really is.

Shana had been right about the water.  It flowed freely throughout the green grasses of the Dothraki Sea, small streams that opened up into gentle pools, and they were able to quench their thirst easily.  Food however was more of a scarcity; they had finished what scant supplies they had taken with them from New Mereen. Weeks of travel they had subsisted on little more than the occasional wild berries, sweet grass shoots, and fat black horned beetles.  The insects had not been to Shana’s liking, she refused to eat them when Brienne suggested they try them as food, but as the days and nights wore on Brienne caught the woman stuffing one in her mouth with a shaky hand.

“When I am wealthy, I will eat glazed figs, slow roasted meats, whipped deserts and gorge myself on wine.”

“It is good you will no longer need to be a whore, for you will be a large one in no time.” It was an unkind thing to say, but their hunger had made them both irritable and quick to throw verbal barbs at each other.

“I’ll have you know men like all kinds.  Plump Primrose was one of the most popular girls when I worked at a brothel in Tyrosh or was that Lys?  I can’t remember...”

“You’ve been to many places.” Brienne said, hoping to take the edge away from her last statement.

“Yes.”

“It would explain your accent. You sound like you’re from the east, but there are times  
when I could swear you sound more Westerosi.”

Shana shrugged and popped another beetle into her mouth; she had gotten over the  
squeamish of eating the bugs weeks ago.  “I wasn’t always a ‘whore’, and for your peace of mind I’m not ashamed of it either. You are lucky.”

“Lucky?” Brienne would not have used that word to describe the recent events of late.

“You were born a noble woman, you have skills at arms, and you are freakishly ugly and strong.”

“How can you consider being ‘freakishly ugly and strong’ lucky?” Brienne asked as she brushed away the insult.

“When I was young, I was no great beauty, but pretty enough to draw the eye of a boy, ‘Laughing Jonny’ they called him back home. He enjoyed a good jape, always had a joke and a smile on his lips.  He was very handsome, and many of the girls in my village vied for his company.  Both my parents had died, illness, I was a young girl, lonely,” Shana paused and laughed sadly. “I was thrilled he seemed to want to walk beside me, when I drew water from the well he would offer to help me with the buckets, carrying them home so the water wouldn’t spill and wet my skirts. The other girls were so jealous Jonny was paying attention to me, and I enjoyed it.”

Brienne wasn’t sure where Shana was going with this story, but sipped her water and  
listened glad her companion was so verbose.  Jaime had always been the one to fill their conversations.

“One day Laughing Johnny had asked me to accompany him on a walk to the Shadowed Forest to look for cider mushrooms.  Have you ever had those?”

Brienne shook her head ‘no’.

“They are delicious, extremely rare, and you can make a pretty coin selling them at market.  Jonny said he had found hundreds of them, and wanted to share his find with me. I wanted to go with him, to be with him, and the coin I could have earned would have been welcomed. We went into the woods and it wasn’t long until Jonny’s hand were at me, at first it was nice, a brush of my cheek, his hand about my waist, but then when he started to touch me in places no maid would want. I tried to laugh it off, to tell him to stop gently; I still wanted him to like me.”

Brienne could sense where Shana’s story was going; she did not interrupt, and let the  
woman continue.

“But he kept at me, and soon I got angry with him and told him to stop not-so-gently, when he didn’t listen I slapped him hard across the cheek and he did not like that.  I was so stupid… alone in the woods, it was everything my father had warned me about with boys, and yet, there I found myself lying on the forest floor trying to fight off a boy twice my size. I was weak.  Most women aren’t like you.  You’re big and strong. You’re lucky.”

“He raped you?”

“He tried.”

“You fought him off?” Brienne asked hopefully.

“No, not me. Some others came upon us, men who knew my father when he was alive, men who knew who I was. They stopped him.”

Brienne sighed in relief.

“They scared Jonny off, threatened him, and laughed as he ran away bare assed. When he was gone I thanked them, as I struggled with my dress that was torn to shreds, it was my best dress, so stupid to wear it, to go pick bloody mushrooms.”

“I’m glad you weren’t raped.” It was a meek reply to her story, but Brienne was at a loss for words.  She wondered if she should go to her, offer her comfort. Shana’s eyes snapped up, the light blue sparked with anger. “I didn’t say I didn’t get raped.”

“But I thought they scared Jonny off.”

“When I thanked the men one replied, ‘now come love, a kiss would be a sweeter thank-you’. I never knew what that dark look meant in a man’s eyes meant before that day, but all three of them looked at me with that look, and then I _knew_. I could feel their ugly thoughts, and I ran!”

“Three men.” Brienne whispered, her stomach lurching again. Jaime had saved her from a similar fate, no one was there to should ‘sapphires’ for poor Shana.

“I ran until my lungs were on fire and my legs screamed, they called and laughed at me as they chased me, somehow I made it to the road and by some turn of fortune, there were two brothers riding. One tall and beautiful the other short and ugly, both golden.”

“You’re Tysha!” Brienne exclaimed with the realization that this woman sitting before her was Tyrion’s first wife. The one Jaime had saved, and then allowed to be raped by his father's command. Jaime had shared the story with her years ago, she had listened to his tale of the crofters daughter sickened by what he had allowed happened, but she had forgiven him for his role. The ‘poor girl’ had been a character in a brutal story of her husband's past, but now Shana… Tysha was real, a flesh and blood person.  Someone she cared for, her saviour from slavery, her companion through this hard and arduous journey.

“No one has called me that in quite some time.” All throughout her story she had shown only the faintest hint of emotion, as if she was sharing the events that happened to another. The mention of her name caused her eyes to well with tears.

“Tyrion never knew, it was his father who wanted to make an example of you, he commanded Jaime to tell Tyrion you were a whore, after only his wealth. He wanted to teach his son a lesson.” The excuses Brienne made for both brothers felt hollow in her mouth and in her heart.

“Do you wonder why I’ve shared this story with you?” Tysha said with shaking breath, not waiting for a reply she continued, “I wanted you to know what kind of monster you’ve married.  What kind of monster I married…”

“Jaime is no monster.” Brienne felt sorrowful pity for the woman, but her temper rose with the insult to her husband. Her words came out in short bursts. “It was wrong of him; he was obeying a command by his father.  He regrets it to this day, he told Tyrion the truth years ago.”

“I know that.” Tysha said her tone equally as terse.

“How could you possibly…?”

“Several years ago there were rumours of a dwarf claiming to be a Lannister searching for a whore. All my years spent in Essos I did my best to not think of the girl I was, she was dead and gone, I buried her back in the Westerlands, but then I learned he was looking for me, my rich husband.” Her bitter laugh caught in her throat.

“Why didn’t you search him out?”

Tysha smiled sadly as she looked up at the sky.  “The sun is about to set, your stars will be out soon. I’ll tend to the horses.”

Brienne would not let her change the course of the subject that easily, “If you hate Tyrion, and you hate Jaime so, why would you risk your life to save me?”

“I may hate them, but I love their gold.  That is all.” Tysha rose and brushed the dust from her skirts. Brienne watched the small woman move through the grasses towards where their horses were drinking.  Tysha was right.  She had been lucky.  If she had been born a slight woman, like she had always hoped to be when she was younger, if circumstances in her life had made her vulnerable like Tysha, Brienne was not certain she could have survived the way Tysha had, she was remarkable. Tysha would have her gold,  _that_  Brienne could give her, in her heart she wished that she could present her a more just reward.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to those who guessed correctly! Smarty Pants!


	29. The Burning Stag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne stumbles into Stannis' camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another wine induced posting. Fair warning!!

There was a cliff ahead, a rarity in the flat grassy lands of the Dothraki Sea, Brienne jumped from her horse wishing to be rewarded with a view of what lay ahead, perhaps she could spy a city in the distance, camp fires, something to ride towards, with each passing day and night their sights had only been rewarded with a never ending wave of grass.  As she came to the edge of the hill, the sight below her was staggering.  A battle camp of hundreds, _no thousands_ of men. The flags rippling in the air drenched in the golden light of the early setting sun were black, red and yellow its sigil…

 

_A burning stag._

 

Tysha dismounted and walked the few paces towards Brienne, curious to see what had given her pause.

“An army.” She whispered beside her, as if there was threat that the hordes below could hear them.

“Its Stannis Baratheon’s army.” Brienne said.

“We should go!”

Brienne stood mute, contemplating if she could do what needed to be done, they couldn’t persist much longer as they had these past weeks. Her feet were moving before she fully realized it.

“What are you doing?” Tysha hissed as she frantically pulled at the fabric of Brienne’s sleeve, tearing it as she tried to hold her back from marching into the camps.

“We can’t keep going like this. I’m not certain where we are, I cannot be sure I’ve followed this map correctly,” Brienne gestured to the star map she kept tucked in her belt alongside her sword and dagger. “I will not have us starve to death.  I need to see my children...” Brienne’s voice faltered as a weep escaped her lips.  The sound seemed to startle Tysha, and she let go of the sleeve she had been clutching.

Tysha bit her lip, clearly not liking the idea of Brienne going into the camps “Go.  But I’m staying here.  Don’t get yourself killed.”

“Is that concern for me, or because my actions could threaten your reward?”

“What do you think?” Tysha glared at her, before she threw herself into a hasty embrace.

Brienne  surprised by the sudden show of affection, gently squeezed Tysha in return.  “Stay here, stay hidden.  I will get us home.”

“Your home, not mine.” Tysha pulled away.

“My home will be yours if you desire. You will always have a place at my hearth and at my table, this I vow.” Brienne said with severity.

Tysha’s blue eyes searched Brienne’s for sincerity, seeming to find her words true she nodded and said quietly. “Don’t die.”

 

Brienne rode her horse towards the camp, clutching the long black scarf about her face.  From a distance she would appear to be just another soldier, if she was addressed, forced to speak they would realize she was a woman, and when that happened, there would be challenges.  From the hill she had spied the location of what would be the center of the camp, that is where she hoped to find Stannis.

Her heart pounded as she rode past the first soldiers, lazily building their camp fires, the smell of roasted meats torturously following her as she progressed further and further, deeper into his camp.  

She would not fail within the arms of an enemy.  She would need to compromise, to strike a deal of some kind, this war and her old vows seemed so painfully small compared to her want, desire and need for her children and husband. She would cut through any man, and stare down any foe if only to look upon the faces of those she loved again. _To make peace with an enemy... to make peace with Stannis? To support him?_ With only a moments pause, the grim thought came, _Yes I can do that._

She kept her head forward, and her eyes focused as she rode in further. Jaime had once told her that ‘ _if one strode in with purpose, no matter where, many would never pay any mind, let alone question your place’._  His words echoed within her as she edged her horse forward, determined to make it as far as she could.  As the line of tents grew thicker, and the quantity of men thickened the camp, Brienne was forced to dismount, she left her horse to drink at at a trough with others, clicking her tongue she promised to return as she smoothed his coarse mane.

Weaving and dodging, she held the scarf to her face, thankful for the strange assemblage of soldiers Stannis had gathered. Wearing her dirty and torn dark linens, she would not likely draw as much attention had she been in a Westerosi army camp.

 _This is madness_. Brienne thought as she forced her feet to plod onward, she thought of the frantic state Tysha would be in the longer she remained.  Turning into an aisle of tents, she said a silent prayer in the hopes that the more grandly adorned tent before her belonged to Stannis Baratheon,  large banners flapped on each side of it, that dancing stag in front of a burning heart. Her lip curled with old hatred at the sight of it.

“Halt!” A soldier yelled beside her. Brienne stopped but did not turn, her eyes not wanting to move away from the tent. “Who in the seven hells are you?” The man rasped at her.

Brienne sighed, knowing this was as far as she was going to be permitted without resistance. She let loose the scarf, turned to the man and replied, “I’m Brienne Lannister of Tarth. I wish to speak with Stannis Baratheon.”

The man choked out a mocking laugh, “Oh do you now? Well look here Dragonslayer.  I’m Bran the Builder, and I’m afraid I must inform you that King Stannis don’t got time for no crazy large ugly women.” He pressed forward and grabbed her roughly  around the arm. “I’ve seen his type, you ain’t it darling. You’re coming with me.”

Brienne tripped the man with her leg holding his arm firmly, as he fell she snapped it back, the sound and his scream was evidence of a break.  The fallen soldier cried at her feet. She freed her sword from her belt, praying she had the strength to hold her own for whatever was to come next. “I am Brienne Lannister of Tarth, I wish to speak with… King Stannis.” The words felt vile and stilted as she spoke, it felt like a treason.

The men who approached slunk their way towards her, made more cautious by the man rolling in pain at her feet.

 _Quick deaths.  I do not have the strength for a lengthy fight_. Brienne thought as her blade gracefully sliced the air at her side.  A maneuver she had learned from Jaime, it was a fancy and eyecatching dance of the blade, an illustration for her enemies to think twice about attacking.

But attack they did.

 _One. Two. Three._  Three strikes of her blade brought three swift deaths, and the men who encircled her became more leery, they kept their distance, and were less eager to pounce.  Brienne was glad for their hesitation, she shook her head feeling a wave of dizziness blurring her vision, the small act of weakness did not go unnoticed and the men murmured amongst themselves.  

Brienne could feel the strength in her legs threatening to leave her, her knees shook as she willed herself to stay planted to the ground.  The muscles of her arms felt loose and weak, her sword felt double its weight.  I have spent far too long starving in the wilderness...

An older armoured knight yelled.  “Restrain her!”

As they came she swung to her right, but the world spun and her cut fell short. A smacking blow landed at the back of her head.  Rough hands grabbed at her from all sides, forcing her down to the earth.

The same armoured knight pushed a young soldier away, commanding, “Go to the King. Tell him the Dragonslayer wishes to speak with him.”

As the soldier hurried away she called after, “Tell him I wish to speak to the killer or Renly Baratheon!” Another blow to the side of her face was her reward for that insult, a knee was pressed into her back, holding her in place.

She lay in the dirt like that suffering the insults and slurs of the men who surrounded her, in all her years these soldiers had yet to be creative with their barbs.  It was always the same insult to her appearance, peppered with threats of rape.  Numb and weak, she lay there and let their ugly words fall away.

 

“Pick her up!” A woman’s voice called from beyond the wall of men that surrounded her.

As they parted the owner of the voice pushed through and repeated “Pick her up.”  The men pinning her down did as ordered, Brienne pushed their helping hands and arms away, and stood before the Red Woman, her beautiful flawless pale face peered up at her, framed by strands of vibrant red hair.

“Come let us sup. Perhaps your friend would care to join us?” Melisandra gave her a wide and friendly smile.

Brienne’s head jerked slightly in the direction of where Tysha was hidden. “I am alone.” She lied.

“There is a woman, she is over the hills to the east, bring her to us, mind her horse as well.” Melisandra held out her small hand, her long silken sleeves draping almost to the ground. “Come Brienne, we have much to discuss.” Melisandre turned to walk in the direction of Stannis’ tent when she suddenly stopped.  “Oh, and please give your weapons to Arnold,” She motioned to the armoured knight, “A sign of good faith?” She smiled sweetly.

“And what sign of good faith do I have from you?” Brienne asked.

“We haven’t killed you.” Melisandre said simply.

Brienne handed her lavish golden dagger and plain sword over to the soldier. “Don’t hurt the woman.” Brienne said.

“Of course not.  Arnold, find her and bring her unharmed.  If any man is… unkind.  He will be my offering tonight.” Brienne followed the strange sorceress towards the tent that held Stannis, her mind steel for what had to be done to secure safe passage home, back to her children, and back to Jaime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are starting to meet, things are about to get interesting...
> 
> I just realized I should have called this chapter "Lack of a Burning Stag." ugh.


	30. An Old Vengeance Burried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis, Melisandre and Brienne chat. Promises are made.

Brienne wiped away the crusted blood on her bottom lip with a clothed napkin, pressing the cup to her swollen mouth made it ache terribly, but the water was most welcomed.  Before her on the table sat a pile of flat breads, it took all her remaining strength to not tear into them. Thankfully the Red Woman recognized her desire and made a gesture for her to help herself.

Brienne gripped one of the warm breads and tore a small piece with her fingers and as she chewed, her stomach clenched in protest.

Stannis sat across from her, his eyes boring into her, dark and judgemental.  He tightly clenched his jaw as he watched her chew.

 _I could kill him,_ Brienne thought. _I am weak and starved, but I have the strength to end him._ _I could avenge Renly_.  The Gods knew Stannis deserved death, but to kill him would most definitely be the last thing she ever did, she would never see Jaime again, never feel his breath on her neck in their waking hours, never enjoy the warm embrace of Evan’s little body in her lap as she read to him the same stories, over and over again.  Never smell Giselda’s golden locks after she came in from a day of exploring in the woods. No, the time for her old vengeance was done.

“What am I to do with her?” Stannis asked Melisandre, never taking his eyes from Brienne.

“She will aid your cause. I have seen it.”

“She called me a kinslayer! In front of my men!” Stannis barked.

“You are.” Brienne replied.

Stannis scowled at her. “You are fortunate I still uphold the old customs, otherwise I’d have taken your head for that remark.”

“You deny it?” Brienne asked.

The scowl on Stannis’ face deepened, red was crawling up his neck, working its way to his cheeks. He exhaled angrily through his nostrils and replied. “No.”

“I took the blame for that murder. I had loved him.” Brienne said, the ghost of an old hurt pummeled at her breast.

“Everyone loved him.” Stannis said begrudgingly. “But he was wrong. And you were wrong to support his false claim. Do you deny that?”

Brienne thought back to the reasons she had supported Renly, life was sunnier then, warm and more romantic, she had been a foolish girl, blindly promising her loyalty to those who showed her a shred of kindness. As unpalatable as it was to think, Stannis had the right of it.  Renly was the younger, it should have been Stannis who garnered the support of her house, and all the others in the Stormlands. With thoughts of home haunting her Brienne replied, “I do not deny that your claim was better than Renly’s.”

Satisfied with her answer Stannis continued, “Melisandre thinks that you are important in this war.  How is beyond me.  Perhaps you’ve been delivered to us to slay Daenerys Dragons?”

Brienne scoffed, “No. I could not do that.”

“You did it before.  Why not again?”

“It was not me who killed Drogon, I delivered the blows, but I had help. I can’t explain it… Her attempt to elaborate on  the events of the death of Daenerys’ fiercest dragon felt flimsy and by the look in Stannis’ eyes it had done little to win his favour, she thought of adding... it would be like trying to explain how your shadow killed Renly. But thought better of it and sipped her water.

“You have armies.” Melisandra offered.

Brienne’s head snapped towards the woman, astonished by what she was suggesting.

“What armies?” Stannis asked.

“I see shining knights in plates of blue and silver, and I see you in front, leading them.”

“Is this true?” Stannis asked.

“I cannot call them, I will not call them. They are only to be called if there is danger to Tarth.” Brienne could bend on many things if it meant returning home, but on this she would not.

Melisandra sat on the table between Stannis and Brienne, as if her blocking his view from Brienne would calm his temper. “You haven’t heard have you?”

“Heard what?”

“Your house is no more.”

A black cold dread crept up Brienne’s arms and boiled in her guts. “What do you mean my house is ‘no more’?”

“The Queen dissolved your house. Your children have been deemed illegitimate, and your husband now serves Daenerys as member of her guard.” Melisandra’s strange eyes were flat and unemotional as she shared her news with Brienne.  

Melisandra’s terrible words were soft and sweetly delivered, and to Brienne’s horror she could hear no trace of deception and yet she quietly uttered… “No. No, it cannot be.”

“Melisandra speaks true. Your house is no more.” Stannis added gruffly.

“My children? Where are my children?” Brienne could feel tears burning her eyes but found she was beyond caring.

“I do not know.” Melisandra replied.

Brienne bowed her head down her heart and mind reeling with the grief of unknowing the fate of her babes. Her tear streaked face snapped up to face their impassive gazes. “They are alive. If Jaime is alive, then they are alive. He would die before he would allow harm to come to them.  I know it.” Hope re-flamed inside her as she spoke the words aloud.

“If you call your armies and aid King Stannis we can win back the throne.  We can restore your house, your children will be returned, lands and titles.”  

“And Jaime?”

“Ser Jaime will be dismissed from my guard, I can assure you of that.” Stannis retorted.

If he had called him Kingslayer Brienne may not have found the strength to utter, “I will call the Sapphire Knights.”

“How many are there?” Stannis asked.

“Ten-thousand, four-hundred and eighty-three.”

“That is hardly impressive.” Stannis grumbled.

“Each are worth three men.” Brienne bristled.

Stannis brooded quietly, his jaw looked as though he was chewing a meal as he ground his teeth, finally he ordered. “Find her a tent, and have decent armour and blade forged for her, I will not have one of my generals walking the camps looking like a rag doll. If we are to detour to Tarth of all places, I will at least have her look the part.”

“I wish to send a raven.” Brienne asked before she would be ordered to leave.

“Certainly not.” Came Stannis’ reply.  The Seven Kingdoms and most of the known world believe you dead.  I would have them believing that for as long as possible.”

Brienne could agree with Stannis’ logic, to have her army gather secretly from all across Westeros would be be most advantageous to their efforts.

“What of the dragons?” Brienne asked.

“They will not be of concern,” Melisandre replied.

The woman's response was ridiculous, two dragons not being a concern? “Pardons my lady, but I’ve seen the dragons on a battlefield, you could gather all the capable fighters in Westeros, and it would not make a difference against her dragons.”

“She loves them as if they were her children.  Would you send your children into the battlefield given the choice? She believes they can be killed by man… or woman. We have you to thank for that.” Melisandre moved to the opening of the tent to call in soldiers to escort Brienne.

“Dragons are not children.  It would be madness to not utilize them.” Brienne was astonished at the prospect of the dragons being coddled, and kept away from the field.  Without them as a threat, they could win, providing they could gather forces and move in quickly. Catch Daenerys unprepared. Brienne rose from the table.

“Wait.” Stannis commanded as he turned to Melisandre. “Who knows of her identity here?”

“There were many men holding her down, easily a dozen.”

“Find the ones who know before it spreads like wildfire.  Do not touch the loyal ones, but make it known the necessity for her anonymity, you may have those you feel can’t be trusted.” Melisandre nodded.

“Come Lady Brienne, let us find you suitable accommodations where you can rest and revive.”

“Go.” Stannis ordered, his eyes briefly meeting hers.

 

Brienne exited the tent with the Red Woman, marveling at how easily she was able to navigate through the men. A woman who looked like Melisandre was always a threat of discord in any army camp, but she glided through with ease, the men parting to the sides and allowing them passage. “I will have to think of an identity for you, I apologize if it is not to you liking.”

“I don’t care, I’ve been called many things.” Brienne said honestly.

“Here we are,” Melissandre opened the tent for Brienne to enter.  Brienne ducked low, there were several items strewn about inside.

“This one is occupied she protested.”

“Ash does not require a bed,” Melisandre smiled slyly. “Coster, the one who had the knee to your back, and Zarlo, the one who gave you that busted lip I believe… they will no longer be requiring this tent.  I will have a proper meal sent to you my ‘Pale Mare’.”

Brienne stared quizzically at the woman, not understanding her meaning. As Melisandre departed Brienne gathered the various articles that littered the tent, and threw them in a pile in one of the corners, somewhat satisfied with the order her thoughts drifted to Tysha.

“I should ask about her…” Brienne whispered to herself.  She was about to rise up from her bedroll when a shout came from outside her tent.

“Your camp follower is here!”

Brienne was too stunned to reply as Tysha was scurried inside, her hair was a mess, and her silks more torn and dirty if that could be believed, but she appeared unharmed. Brienne let out a genuine smile of relief.

“They hurt you!” Tysha exclaimed.  

Brienne had forgotten her injuries entirely.  She gingerly pressed her fingertips to her swollen bottom lip.  “Its nothing. I am glad you are here and safe.”

“I feel sorry for any soul to share a nameday with you, for I think the Gods had given you all the luck there was to spoon out that day,” Tysha said in astonishment.

The woman had a way with words, and Brienne couldn't help but to allow a smile at that statement.

Simple foods of roasted meats, cheese, nuts and bread were brought for them, a tankard of wine was also set at their small camp table.  Tysha ate ravenously, Brienne having had her appetite curbed somewhat by the flatbreads Stannis had offered sat back and enjoyed watching the woman eat. “Slow down you will suffer for it if you don’t.”

“I plan to eat until I split like a melon.” She proclaimed, her dirty face brightened by a grin as she drank her wine greedily. With a hearty burp she lay herself out on her bedroll, a wedge of cheese in her hand. “Don’t wake me until it is time to break our fast.” Tysha rolled over her back facing Brienne.

Brienne poured herself a cup of wine and sipped slowly, the vintage was weak but the effects were felt near immediately, warming her blood and taking the edge off the pain of her injuries. Finishing the wine Brienne lay back on her bed roll.  She didn’t know where her children were, but she knew in her heart they were alive.

 _Jaime thinks I’m dead_ … Her thoughts darkened with what he might do.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed this one. I hope you do too.


	31. Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's role is even greater than it seems.

He knew Jaime’s grief over the loss of his wife would be monstrous, he was loath to look upon his brothers face when it was still so raw. Tyrion delayed for as long as could be considered polite,  as much as he detested having to witness his brothers suffering, he also had the great need for urgency, knowing time was against him. He had waited too long, unknowing the fate of Jaime’s wife, and finally when that fool had arrived back at Kingslanding with that damnable sword he breathed easier, and made immediate plans to visit Jaime and the Children.

 

It was with a grim heart he landed on the shores of Tarth. The legendary waters of its namesake lived up to his expectations.  The bay leading into the main docks were extraordinarily blue, peaceful and glimmering with burning whites of the suns reflections.  It seemed impossible that anyone could be in mourning in such a place.

“Come let us move on, the view will be here tomorrow,” he rallied his men.  An assortment of guards from the capital  and a few of the sellswords he was fond of. A horse was brought to him and they rode the rest of the way towards the castle.

Evenfall Hall was a fraction the size of Casterly Rock, but there had been recent additions judging by the lack of weather-wear on the stonewalls.  The entire expanse of the northern wall looked new, and stretched on for quite some length.  As he crossed the drawbridge and entered the gates the place had the feeling of a battlement camp.  Knights, squires, and all sorts of armed and armoured men, and women… Tyrion turned to admired a short dark haired woman flinging daggers at a post, she grinned delighted as each one hit their intended mark. In the distance he could hear the thunderous roar of men at arms practicing drills of somesort. _No wonder her Grace came back in such a state…_

Tyrion spied his brother first, standing in the center of the yard, each of his children at his side.  Twins, boy and girl, one dark the other light.  Jaime came to him and gathered him from his horse, they lingered in an embrace for a moment, as long as brotherly hugs would allow.

Tyrion cleared his throat and turned to his niece and nephew, as always a little apprehensive as to how children would react to his appearance. Amazingly they seemed unphased. _Perhaps Jaime prepared them? Or is it they’ve seen a rougher lot growing up here amongst these warriors?_  He tried his best to give his warmest smile, “Well these two must be my little nephew and niece!” He clapped his hands together looking up to examine their faces.  It was all Tyrion could do not to gasp.   _The girl…_ “Gods she looks like Cersei.”

The golden haired twin asked, “Who?”

Tyrion didn’t know what was more shocking, seeing a duplicate of his older sister before his eyes, or the fact that the little one didn’t know who Cersei was. _Perhaps Jaime has laid all his ghosts to rest._  The thought burdened his heart greater still.

 

Jaime said little throughout their meal, Tyrion felt the need to overcompensate for the sombre silence of his brother. He struck up conversation with the children, the more he spoke with them, teased, and made them laugh, the fonder he became of them. Several times he had to bite his tongue to keep from calling the girl Cersei, he couldn’t be sure but once he was certain his brother had delivered him a dark look when he slipped calling the poor thing ‘Cersellda’. The girl was more enthusiastic than her brother, not as shy, and more vocal with her curiosity.  The boy seemed sweet, and giggled easily as Tyrion entertained.  It was the first time Tyrion had played the part of the uncle and was revelling in the realization that he quite enjoyed it.  Certain he had won them over he was excited to give them the gifts he had selected back at the capitol.  A half-wit could have realized that the children were less than thrilled with their presents.  With a quirk of the lips Tyrion watched with amusement as each child coveted the others.

“You know it is perfectly acceptable to trade gifts if you’d like.” Tyrion smiled at them.

The children looked to their father, but Jaime was staring out the window and failed to notice their gazes seeking his approval.

“Do it now while he’s not looking,” Tyrion whispered with a mischievous grin. The twins happily switched presents, Evan held the book in his lap, his little hand rubbing over the leather bound cover.  Giselda sat her small dagger beside her, carefully wrapping the blade in her napkin.

 _I wonder if it is wise to have given the child such a gift,_ Tyrion thought, remembering the two who sired and gave birth to her he dismissed his musings.

By the time their dessert of sweet peaches and cream were served he had won back their affections completely. They seem to particularly enjoy stories of a mischievous Jaime in his youth, he was careful not to mention their mother. Another stab of guilt twisted in his guts at the thought of Lady Brienne.

“Perhaps one day we shall have you visit Casterly Rock? Would you like that?” Tyrion asked, they nodded their heads, neither of them having ever set foot off their island.  Giselda seemed the most enthused. He was ticked when the girl gave him a kiss on the cheek, Evan shyly gave him a hug and whispered, “thank-you for the book Uncle Tyrion.” Tyrion nodded watching the two darlings be taken from the room by their septa, an older and kindly looking woman. His pleasant exchanges with his newly acquainted nephew and niece had helped to steel his resolve, to carry through with his next moves. They needed to be protected in the days to come, as did Jaime.

“They are lovely children brother, you should be proud.”

Jaime looked at him sleepily and replied politely, “I am. How is your Benjen?”

“In truth I’m not entirely sure.”

Jaime seemed surprised, “Why is that?”

“I rarely get to make the trek back to Casterly Rock, Sansa sends letters but they are very formal and to the point. She writes that he is healthy and happy. That is all.” Tyrion hoped that his curt response would be enough to move the subject on.

His brother remained silent as he stared into the fire, the glass of wine in his hand barely touched.

 _I cannot go on much longer without making mention of her…_ Tyrion swallowed the unappealing cider swishing in his mouth and asked, “How have you been fairing brother? I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Remembering his wine Jaime drank deeply, his voice came quietly, a coarse whisper, “Every morning I go to the rookery in hopes of a letter.  Then I go down to the beach, and I stare out over those waters.” He closed his eyes. “Sometimes I imagine her walking up the beach, sword on hip, cloak blowing behind her in the wind, like a legend turned flesh.”

Tyrion bit his lip and let his brother continue.

He spoke further of his daily routine, a little of Cersei, Tyrion hazarded made a cutting remark about their long dead sister, which managed to draw a short lived laugh from his brother’s lips.  Giving him some hope that he would come through this cloud of grief that enveloped him.

When Jaime asked him, “Why are you here Tyrion?” He inhaled deeply, knowing the turn of conversation would be pivotal in drawing him away from Tarth. He began by playing into his memories of the young mad King Aerys, hoping the recollections would be a reminder of the potential danger they could facing.   

As he made his arguments to pull Jaime away from his home, he reminded himself of the very real threat forcing his hand...

 

Daenerys was slipping with each passing day, and he was finding it more difficult to quell her mistrust of all his hard won alliances. For years she had muttered of the queer Kingslayer’s wife, and how she had slaughtered her eldest.

It had been in the early spring, one afternoon he joined her for a stroll in the gardens she made a comment of how it would be _‘just for his family to suffer a similar fate’._

 _One of Jaime’s children?_ Tyrion was horrified.  True he had never laid eyes on the twins, but something deep in his core steeled at her threatening words, and his heart and mind hardened against her. It was that day that he allowed treasons he had pushed aside years ago to bloom again in his mind.

That night he sent a letter to Casterly Rock, sealing it with a mark only known to he and Sansa.  As he pressed the seal to the wax he thought of the many letters he sent to Jaime.

If only he had answered his letters regarding Stannis, if only he had not been so stubbornly set on secluding himself, perhaps the Queen’s suspicion of their loyalty could have been curbed for a bit longer… but as months passed and his letters went unanswered he could no longer satiate the Queen with his excuses on his brothers behalf. Her paranoia grew with each passing day, she was convinced they were a threat, that needed to be dealt with.  The day she unexpectedly hopped on her dragon to visit Tarth fear and bile lived in his throat.  He had only needed one more day, one more day and it all would have been set in motion, he prayed that Jaime didn’t say something stupid to set her off...

Luck had been with him and Daenerys had not killed them that day, now he sat and watched his brother torment over his proposal of rejoining the Queensguard. It was not pleasing to see him agonize so, and using his children as leverage felt incredibly distasteful,  but it was ultimately the best opportunity to keep his children safe.

 

He further reflected on the events that had brought them to this place...

 

Everything he was sharing with Jaime was truth, Daenerys did see his wife and their knights as a threat, she would harm them given the opportunity again.  Tyrion had formulated the suggestion of calling Jaime back to the guard under the premise he was never formally dismissed. What he did not share was that his suggestion came before Brienne’s “death”, not after.

The Queen seemed satisfied with the idea, she also seemed partial to the element of punishment involved. She had her conditions, but those could be dealt with when the time came.  Jaime would never have agreed to be separated from his wife, he knew his brother far too well to even think of it as a prospect, no, Jaime would never agree to that.  So Tyrion resolved that he would need to separate Brienne from Jaime.

It was weeks until he learned the fate of the ship that had sank in a freak storm, throwing all his carefully thought out plans into the wind.  The fate of Lady Brienne and his man at Tarth kept him awake at nights.  Guilt for what he had done constricted his breathing, and turned him away from food.  For the first time since he joined Queen Daenerys in her campaign to reclaim her throne did he allow wine to pass over his tongue. The sensation of the drink as it flowed through him was not unlike how he felt after paying a whore who had tried too hard, he drank more to shake the miserable feeling, and the more he drank the more he thought of whores.

 

A sharp rap came upon his door.  Tyrion scrambled to hide his wine and called out, “What is it?”

“Your sapphire is safe,” came a familiar voice.

Tyrion jumped from his seat and scurried to the door.

The striped faced man looked down at him, a hood shadowing his face.

“Get in you fool!” Tyrion pulled Torgys into the chamber, his eyes darting about briefly in the yard.  “Where are my guards?”

Torgys smiled and shrugged.

“You’re alive!” Tyrion exclaimed. A rising hope was building inside him, he did not dare let it flower until he knew the truth, “and the Lady Brienne?”

“She was alive when I last laid eyes upon her.”

“Which was when exactly?”

“Your boat took her east, as you desired. We are fortunate it came when it did, I was beginning to worry working for you was to be my death.”

“I could not have predicted that storm.”

“Aye, no one could it came fast.”

“How were you able to convince the Lady Brienne to leave with you?”

“Your Dragon Queen made convincing easy. I found the lovers quarrelling shortly after her departure, when the Lady Brienne was alone I suggested we scout for Stannis as you recommended.  Like I said, it was easy convincing.” Torgys grinned, seemingly pleased with his work.

Tyrion thanked the Gods Daenerys actions aided his cause that day, he would need to be more careful moving forward.

“I did save this for you, I thought you might like it.” Torgys bent forward, pulling the scabbard from around his thick neck and shoulders. He set the sword upon the table.  Tyrion allowed one finger to caress the pummel of the golden lions head, its red eyes seemed to flash at him accusingly.

 _This sword will be my death_ , Tyrion shivered as he thought of Jaimes wrath.   _His wife will be fine, my man in Mereen will purchase her, hold her until I give word, when all is settled she will be returned, he never need know_. His attempt to comfort his conscience did little. “You need to go!” Tyrion reached for a key he kept in a drawer amongst some scrolls.  “Take this to the Iron Bank at Braavos, your payment will be there.  Never return here again.  Are we clear on this?”

Torgys smiled and nodded, tightening his hand around the key. “That sword is worth another key I think.”

“You have cursed me with this sword!” Tyrion exclaimed.

“Then I will take it back,” The former slave smiled as he reached for Oathkeeper.

Despite knowing the man was calling his bluff Tyrion instinctively reached out his hands to protect the sword from his grasp. “Fine. Another key.”  

Satisfied with his reward Torgys walked towards the door, halting before he left, “When you see the Lady Brienne again, tell her I am dead.” The man left, not waiting for Tyrion’s reply.

“What an odd thing to say…” Tyrion whispered.  His eyes drawn to Oathkeeper again he picked it up and took it to one of the many chests he kept locked at the base of the stairs. Flipping open the trunk was lay Jaime’s sword the Sapphire Star, he set Oathkeeper next to it, he covered the swords with a cloth and a dozen books to be safe.  Locking the trunk, he hid the key.  It was far too late to turn back now. The next morning he made arrangements to sail to Tarth.

 

“When do you propose we move?” Jaime’s agreeance shook Tyrion from his recollections, he eyed the wine from the smashed glass Jaime had hurled, it dripped down the wall like thin blood.  Tyrion licked his lips at the sight of it.

“The sooner the better.  I will go back to Kingslanding, plant the seeds, and tend the garden. I will send word when you should come. In the meantime, ready the children for the trip to Casterly Rock.  Leave your house to someone you trust.”

  
The next day before he left Evenfall Hall he sent another letter to Sansa at the Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost killed me! I need a beta!


	32. A Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan of attack on King's Landing is forged.

There had been grumblings amongst his generals; the want for battle was lingering amongst them thick and palatable; and they all longed to spill blood and commit violence. They were hungry for war. To be delayed again for this mysterious ‘Pale Mare’, some jilted freakishly large woman of Westeros, who little was known of, it was an unwanted delay, and she took the brunt of their displeasing stares.  They eyed her with suspicion, insulted that they should share a war council table with her.

 

Brienne was seated in a place of little importance at the table of Stannis’ twelve generals; she sat silent and unbent, listening intently to their strategies, or what she could make of them. They all talked over themselves, each vying for the merits of their own opinions, half-listening and scoffing as others presented theirs. How Stannis had managed to assemble this lot and bind them together was beyond her. Brienne did her best to ignore their dark glances. Her face bore the scars of battle, but her newly forged armour had not a scratch on it. Could this be why her presence irked them so? _No_ , it was a naive thought; it always came back to her sex. The sword Stannis had given her was new as well, a vast and welcomed improvement from her stolen guardsman sword, though nowhere near as rapturous as Oathkeeper, but of course, what sword was?  The lavish dagger that had belonged to the Mustached Man lay at her hip again as well, tokens of trust from Stannis. _King Stannis_ , she reminded herself.

 

“I will not take the bulk of my force through the Blackwater again,” Stannis barked to the Gischarian general. “You were not there for the green hell of that wildfire.For all I know that Targaryen woman’s pyromancers have her fully stocked.”

 

“We take our attack to the walls of the city then?”Another shouted. There were many protests to this plan. To maneuver an army of this size on a long march would raise the hackles of the Queen’s defenses, eliminating the element of surprise they so desperately required.

 

“We should do both,” Brienne said quietly. No one heeded her, and the thundering voices of the men arguing drowned out her words. “We should attack from the water and the land.” Still none paid her any mind.

 

The woman Melisandre leaned over to Stannis and whispered at his ear. Stannis’ eyes met Brienne’s and his voice boomed. “Shut up!” Slamming his palm against the table. “What is it you’re mewing about, woman?”

 

All their angry eyes turned to her. Brienne thought before she opened her mouth, willing herself to speak clearly and concisely. “You should take the bulk of your men in south from the waters. I will bring my force in from the north, whilst you offer a distraction.  The Queen’s eyes will be set on the attack from the bay. I will move in with my men at the Dragon Gate.  That gate is the closest to the dragon pits.  I know you are certain the Queen will refuses to loosen her dragons upon us, but I would rather those pits remain sealed and guarded.”

 

Brienne waited for her words to be translated for those who did not speak the common tongue. She was certain protestations and arguments were to follow.

 

Stannis shifted his eyes to the side and he squinted with thought.  “She is right.  Her strategy has merit, but could be improved. Why rely on one distraction when we could have three?” Stannis pressed his lips together tightly, allowing only the slightest lift to the corner of his mouth,  as he rose to appraise the map of King’s Landing before him. “We press up into Blackwater Bay; send the slaves in first if they have that damned firewater it will incinerate their ships. When we are sure the path is cleared, we have forces land at the Mud Gate, and once the fighting is focused there, we send in troops at the Iron Gate, keeping their attention south of the city.  The Mare will be knocking on the door at the Dragon’s Gate; it will be far too late for them to assemble. She will press through and ensure those damned Dragons stay penned.”

 

“And what force will your contingency be riding in with, my Grace?” One of his generals asked.

 

“Why, the Kings Gate of course.” Stannis sat back in his chair, arms crossed before him, seemingly satisfied with his plans. Looking towards Brienne he ordered.  “You leave on the ‘morrow.  Gather your forces.  You’ll have one moon turn before we attack.”

 

Brienne nodded and rose from the table.  She had her marching orders, and it was time to move. 

 

Walking through the camps she appraised the soldiers about camp, young and old, an assortment of men from all over the east and west. Men who had been squalling babes, precious things that had each been held in a loving mothers arms once.  How quick men were to pick up a blade and end the life of another, with such disregard for their own.  For Brienne the killing had never come easy. She’d taken lives only when necessary and when in defense of the weak and for those in need.  Now she was no better than these men who marched a war path for the glory of another, for petty vengeances, and personal gain. Her bitter thoughts followed her the entirety of her route back to the tent she shared with Tysha.

 

Stepping inside, she was surprised to find Tysha there. The woman had rarely spent a night in their tent.It seemed the longer they moved with the camp, the more restless she became.  She had done well amongst the men at camp; her purse was full of coin again. 

 

Tysha’s lips quirked at the sight of Brienne in her armour.  The woman seemed to be endlessly amused by her appearance in it. When she had first lay eyes on thegift from Stannis, she had exclaimed, “You may be an ugly woman, but you’d make a very impressive man indeed.”

 

She was used to Tysha’s teasing, japes made bearable by the lack of a malicious tone to her words. Tysha rose to help Brienne with her armour. Brienne bent on one knee while the woman unbuckled the straps at her shoulders.  Free of the armour Brienne collapsed upon her bed roll and said,“I have been ordered to take a ship to Tarth tomorrow.  When we arrive I will reward you what my husband has promised.  One can never be certain what war will bring; should we lose I would advise you not linger long at Tarth.  I will arrange for a ship to take you wherever you may wish to go.”

 

Brienne lay on her side, feeling exhausted and worn.  She needed to rest, but knew it would be difficult when all she could think of was Jaime and the children, _Jaime_ who would be on the other side.  Fear gripped her heart for the uncertainty of what that could mean.  A small choking sob escaped her lips.  She attempted to muffle the sounds, but Tysha had heard.

 

The woman crawled over to her bed, and put her arms around her. 

 

“I told you I do not wish that,” Brienne said tightly. 

 

“I know you fool.” Tysha’s small hands caressed her arm lightly.  “I only wish to comfort you.”

 

It had been far too long since she had felt the warm and gentle touches of another.  The gesture was enough to release her tears; unbridled small gasps that escaped her lips quickly became ugly wracking sobs.  It felt painful, but good; a part of her wished Tysha would leave her be, but she found she was enjoying the feeling of her warmth far too much to be parted with her affection.

 

“Whatever has you so upset?” Tysha asked gently.

 

“How can I do this?  To call my knights for _him_?” The last word she spit out like venom.

 

“I do not see the reason for your turmoil,” Tysha answered back. “The Queen has threatened your home and ripped your children from their rightful place.  She has removed your husband and your house now lies barren.  _She_ haswaged a war upon you. You have every right to answer back in kind.”

 

Brienne desperately wanted to latch on to the woman's reasoning, yet she felt in her heart that she was betraying a piece of herself. But far worse was the thought that she was betraying the trust of her knights.  Brienne closed her eyes and sobbed. Tysha pulled her in closer, taking her into her arms, Brienne buried her face into the woman’s hair. Her body tensed as she felt the first kiss land upon her neck.

 

“Tysha,”she whispered a weak plea for her to stop.

 

Tysha silenced Brienne with another kiss, sweet and soft, a gentle press upon her lips.

 

Brienne shut her eyes tightly and summoned thoughts of Jaime, as she opened her mouth and accepted the kiss. The moment lingered, and for that small span of time, she felt as though she was with him again. Large silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Gathering her senses she pulled away and begged, “Stop.”

 

Tysha looked at Brienne; there was concern and care in her blue eyes, she gave her a warm smile, as she pressed her hair away from her wet tear stained face, the back of her knuckles just barely grazing the skin. “I was him for a moment, wasn’t I?”she asked.

 

Brienne remained silent,and shaken with what she had allowed herself to do,she shut her eyes and swallowed, the lump in her throat painful.

 

“You think you are the first to imagine me another? I don’t mind.” Tysha curled up closer to Brienne, her arms draping about her waist. 

 

She didn’t know she had fallen asleep, when she awoke Tysha lay next to her, her breathing light and steady in the throes of slumber.  Brienne felt embarrassed by the situation in which she found herself.  To have had such a lapse in strength and judgment... _It will not happen again,_ she promised herself as she gingerly lifted Tysha’s arms from her torso. The night was upon them now, the moon bright and full; it illuminated the tents in a silvery glow. Brienne breathed in deeply; they were close to the coast. The air was sweet and cleansing, and smelled of the sea; it reminded her of home.                      

 

“Stannis wishes to speak with you,” a soldier called out to her, he turned back, walking toward the direction of their King’s tent, expecting her to follow, which she did.

 

“You leave within the hour. I have one of my fastest galleys waiting to take you to Tarth, if the weather is with you, you should land in two days. Rally your knights. They will have three weeks’ time.  We will press on to Kings Landing.  The day after the next new moon we attack, at dawn.  Do not linger. I do not need to press upon you the delicacy of this timing.”

 

“It will not be all of them, it is not enough time,” Brienne answered back.

 

“It will have to be enough, besides if it turns out to be a siege, the Gods forbid, you will be glad for the reinforcements. We’ll be knocking at their front gates; you will be at the back; and no one will expect you.  It is a good plan.”

 

Brienne nodded, slightly taken aback by the compliment. “How will you take the bay without being noticed?”

 

“Melisandre promises the Lord of Light will provide.  I have faith in her.”

 

The turn in conversation made Brienne uncomfortable, and she wished she had not thought to ask.

 

“Go. Your ship awaits.” Stannis motioned for her to leave his tent.

 

Brienne hesitated before departing.  “Renly was good and kindly.  I will never forgive you for his murder; you should have met us on the field.  I only help you to bring my family home.

 

Stannis glowered at her.  “Renly was in the wrong and you were a fool to support him, and you are acting a fool now to dare say these words to me. I will uphold the promises I have spoken, Brienne Lannister of Tarth.I trust you will do the same.”

 

“I will keep my word,” Brienne said. She turned and left, feeling the angry burn of his stare upon her back.

_For my children, for Jaime, I will do this thing,_ she thought as the sharp night air bit into her lungs.

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to Commasplice for helping me beta this chapter. It was the first time I've had a beta for any of my writing and I think the chapter improved greatly because of her insights.
> 
> That woman knows her Stannis!


	33. A Legend in Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attack on King's Landing surprises the citizens within.

He sleepily shoveled a helping of quail’s eggs into his mouth. He put the fork down and chewed.  Daenerys perfect little face peered at him from her table, enjoying the slow and monotonous death she was inflicting upon him. Some days he wished someone might have had the inclination to slip poison into her food,  _a craven’s thought_ , a sour one he dismissed as soon as it came.

Daenerys nodded seemingly satisfied her morning meal was safe. 

 _Morning?_  Jaime thought ruefully, No, the sun had yet to break the horizon.  The Queen rarely slept anymore; paranoid thoughts rumbled through her mind day and night;and when she could find no rest, he too was granted none.  Summoned at all hours to taste the foods she barely ate.

The eggs set before her; she raised her jeweled fork and brought a small dainty bite to her mouth. The eggs barely grazed her lips, when the sound of the bells thundered and echoed out over King’s Landing.

Daenerys eyes widened, as did those of all members present.Servants and guards alike froze as if struck by an invisible hand.  Jaime rose to make his way to the balcony to spy what he could over the Bay. It was dark and murky; the waters blanketed with a thick fog, grey like smoke. He could barely make out the edge of the city’s high walls; one fire burned in the distance over the Mud Gate, the signal of an attack. Daenerys came to his side.  He looked at her face; it surprised him to see no fear present.  How easy it was to forget that this lithe silk draped queen was also a battle-hardened veteran.

“Get me your brother.” She ordered.

Out of habit Jaime moved as commanded.   He had barely made it past the entrance to the Queen’s quarters when a gold cloak came rushing in.

Jaime pressed his golden hand to the man’s chest, halting his progress. “What word?”

The guard panted, breathe heavy from his trek, “Ships Ser… many ships… south.”

“South? A signal from Sharp Point? Where have they been spotted?”

“No Ser, you misunderstand. There was no signal.  Stannis’ fleet is in the Bay!”

Jaime stood in mute shock at the man’s words. _How in the bloody hells did Stannis get so far?_ Tyrion had lookouts all along the coast from Estermont to Dyre Den. The gold cloak pressed onwards towards the Queen’s rooms.  The news would surely rattle her sense, Jaime almost wished he could go back to watch, but he needed to find Tyrion.  

“Jaime!” his brother called to him from across the stone corridor.  The evening’s torches had yet to be snuffed.

“Is it truly Stannis?” Jaime asked.

“It would appear so.”

“How?”

His brother snorted.“I don’t know.” Words that Tyrion rarely uttered, and clearly irked him greatly.

“I will need you to organize the men at the Iron Gate.”

“I’m going to the Mud Gate. You are trying to keep me away from the fighting.  We’ve discussed this.”

“You are a soldier, and I am giving you an order. The _Iron Gate_. I will have Ser Barristan meet with you there as well.”

“Old men and cripples on the Iron Gate, is it brother?” Jaime left Tyrion, smacking his face with a twirl of his white cloak; furious he went towards the stables for his horse. It wasn’t until he mounted that he realized he was heading to battle with no sword.  _Perhaps those eggs will turn my stomach and I can vomit on the enemy?_   _If any manage to shamble in my direction._   _Iron Gate indeed_ , he thought bitterly.  He had half a mind to turn back towards the Mud Gate or press onwards to the King’s Gate,  _Stannis had tried to breach the city from there as well, he could try it again…_ Turning his horse to disobey his brother’s orders, he was halted by the sound of a dull and splintered echo, coming from what direction he couldn’t decide. Jaime stood still and listened intently.  It was near impossible to discern it with the shouts and cries from the men and women of the city.

 _Thud_.  Came the sound again. It  _is coming from the north…_

“Jaime!” Tyrion came behind him on horse; Daenerys at his side, along with Swann and Grey Worm, the Queen was dressed in breeches, and armour.  “You have your orders. What are you still doing here?”Tyrion hissed.

“Shh, listen!”

_Thud._

_They hear it too._

“That is from the north side.” Tyrion whispered. A blaze of fire lit up over the north-eastern Dragon’s Gate.

_Thud._

“My dragons!” Daenerys exclaimed. Three fires now burned.  He was attacking from all sides.

_Thud._

“This is not good.” Jaime said.   _Damnit, is everyone afraid to speak sense to this woman?_ “Your Grace, you must raise one of your dragons.  One look will send them all fleeing. We cannot take on his army from all sides like this.  You are going to lose the city.”

 _Thud_.

Daenerys’ lips curled in rage, her violet eyes flashed angrily as she recognized the truth in his words. She looked about her city, the panic of her people growing with each passing minute. With gritted teeth she finally relinquished. “Let us ride to the pits.”

Tyrion and Jaime both sighed with relief.

_Thud._

“If anything should happen to one of my children, Lannister, I shall have one of yours.”

Jaime’s hand reached for his non-existent sword, Grey Worm and Swann reached for their very real blades at his movements.  Jaime held up his hands, one real the other golden and laughed.  The Queen had left the scene behind her, moving towards the pits.  Grey Worm and Swann followed.

“Well I’m glad I waited until now to give this to you.” Tyrion motioned towards his sellsword. The man handed over a sword and sheath, placing it in Jaime’s left hand.

_Thud._

Recognizing the hilt immediately Jaime whispered, “My sword.” He caressed the silver of its hilt.

“Thank-you,” Jaime said gratefully.

Tyrion nodded solemnly.

_Thud._

“We best move.”

 

A terrible crack greeted them as they neared the Dragon Gate.  A shroud of grey curtained the streets, only a hint of the day break trimming back the darkness of the night. 

“That door will not hold much longer.”

A horn sounded on the opposite side of the city.

“They’ve breached the walls at the water,” Tyrion lamented.

“She had better get that dragon to flight, or I’m afraid you’ve lost your city, brother.”

Jaime rode to the edge of the wall, dismounted and climbed the length of the inner stairs, hoping to spy the number of soldiers waiting on the other side.

_Thud._

The relentless battering ram shook the walls he was standing on.

A call for the archers to loosen their bows was given, a rain of arrows flew into the sky, several bit into the thick shield of wood over the ram.   _Useless._

_Crack._

The attackers had cracked the door, a roar of voices erupted below.  Jaime gripped the Sapphire Star and jumped below to join his men. The soldiers who clamored through the broken gates were well armed, and from what Jaime could see they outnumbered their own defenses.   _It seems Stannis is intent on securing the dragons. Wise move._ Jaime thought as he searched for a helm, tearing off his cloak.  The Queensguard armour would make him target enough.

The doors cracked open wider and a flood of men poured in.  Mounting his horse, Jaime kicked its sides and galloped towards the melee, his blade opening throats as he flew.  The chaos of the fight was all around him, the sounds of clashing, and men fighting, the sounds of men dying.  Jaime dismounted as the enemies number thickened inside the walls. Jaime’s blood sang and he felt more alive than he had in the many months since Brienne had perished at sea. Since that bleak day his head had never felt clearer of the fog of grief that had enveloped him.

He heard her before he saw her.  A scream of exertion, the sound she made whenever she made a mighty cross-strike. Jaime shook his head, ignoring the distraction. _Leave me be today, Brienne; I can’t be haunted with your ghost now._ Jaime focused on the knight before him, a large hulking man, with a powerful swing.  Jaime danced around him, but failed to land a blow on his person.  “You’re good.” He grinned beneath his helm.  A flurry of frustrated strikes came at him, Jaime deflected each of them, and lunged forward, a perfectly delivered blow into the soft spot of the man’s neck.  “But not good enough I’m afraid.” Pulling his sword from the man’s neck Jaime appraised the battle around him.  They had blocked the passage of the attackers, but knew it could be not for much longer.   _Where in the Seven Hells is that dragon?_

A familiar movement drew his eye.  Jaime watched transfixed by the tall knight Ser Barristan approached, his white cloak was a spattering of gore, and it would appear the he and the old knight had found themselves in the thick of the fight after all.

The bodies of the dead and dying lay all around at the feet of the tall knight; this would be no ordinary foe. Selmy attacked first; he was surprisingly quick, but the tall one proved quicker and defended himself against the blows easily.  There was no question who would win this, and Jaime rushed to Selmy’s aid.

The tall knight delivered blow upon blow at Ser Barristan, Selmy stepped backwards, barely managing to block each thunderous attack.  “ _Hold on, hold on_ …” Jaime muttered as he raced towards the duel. Selmy fell to his knees, and Jaime arrived to his side just in time to block the downwards strike. It took all his strength to push the beast back.

Jaime roared as he struck at his opponent, each slice blocked or deflected; he could not make a dent in his opponents defenses.  The tall knight pivoted and turned, a swing of the sword whirled in the air, coming towards his right…  _“I know that move…”_ Jaime raised his hand reflexively to block the blow, as he leaned just in time to feel the air of the blade move past his helmed face, a strike that could have easily taken his head clean off.  Stunned, he watched as the metal of his severed hand rolled against the stone.

“Jaime!” The knight removed his helm; the concerned blue eyes that greeted him pulled all the air from his lungs. “Oh Gods, Jaime!” Brienne dropped her blade to her side and then let her shield fall so she could reach for him.

Jaime staggered away holding his useless stump outwards.  Stunned and bewildered he silently begged the specter before him to keep its distance. The hurt and tears he saw in her eyes were enough to pull him back. “Brienne?” His voice broke. Shaking his head, he removed his own helm, he squinted his eyes to look upon her face more clearly.  “Brienne,” he whispered again, believing the vision that stood before him was indeed his wife. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between them, metal on metal as their breast plates collided in an embrace, her body leaned into him, it was as if the strength in her legs dissolved as their arms found each other, Jaime could bear the weight for them both. He pressed his forehead to hers, his neck slightly arching his face upwards, an old familiar maneuver. “Is it you? Is it you?” he cried encircling her neck with his right arm, pulling her in closer still.

She nodded, small sobs escaping her lips.

He swallowed her cries with his mouth, and dropped his sword to the ground freeing his left hand to grasp at the back of her head grabbing at her cropped hair.  He clung to her fiercely as if afraid she would somehow vanish into the fog. 

Their hot mouths opened, and he was rewarded with the sweetest kiss to ever greet his lips. Passion, sorrow, love unbridled.  The battle around them faded away; it was only her; she was the only thing that mattered; his Brienne had returned to him.  Warm tears flowed freely down both their cheeks.

They were separated by the crash of a fallen knight into their sides; a spiral of blood flew through the air as the man spun down to the ground. Remembering where they were each scrambled for their discarded weapons.

The Sapphire Star in hand Jaime looked for his wife, she stood before him, her blade painted in blood, blue eyes shining and marvelous. She  _looks like a legend in a song_.  Jaime smiled as he admired his fierce wife.

“Join us husband.  These are your men,” Brienne said. “These are our knights.”

Jaime looked to Ser Barristan who leaned against the wall gripping his side; his wound wept blood as he slid down to the ground. 

_Perhaps dying old and grey in the comforts of one's bed did have some merit._

“I’m yours my lady,” Jaime replied, turning to face the men he had fought with only moments before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to Commasplice for giving this a read before posting. I'm very grateful for her keen eye.
> 
> They're back together again! Yay!!!
> 
> I did an illustration for this chapter :)  
> http://ladyoftarth-posts.tumblr.com/image/86661976603


	34. Jagged Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys reminisces as she races towards the dragon pits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, I lost a good portion of this chapter in the beginning of the week, and it kind of bummed me out, and made me reluctant to write it again.

As Daenerys rode through the frantic streets of her city towards the pits holding her dragons, her heart pounded in her chest; it pounded with rage; it pounded with fear; it pounded with the agony in knowing that she was contemplating putting her children at risk again.   

His voice whispered in her ear, _you are a little idiot.  You are going to lose our throne!_ Daenerys ignored her brother as best she could.  It was getting harder and harder to dismiss his presence with each passing day.  

 

 

The first time she had seen Viserys in her quarters, shortly after Drogon’s death, she had upset her wine, and startled the servant when she asked, “How is he here?” The servant looked to the far side of the room where Viserys stood in the corner with his arms crossed and a sneer planted upon his face.  

_Hello sister.  So you’ve managed to kill one of our dragons? You should never have listened to the imp._

Daenerys looked to the girl; whose expression was truly puzzled as she pointed to the corner, and when Daeneryslooked again he was gone.  He appeared from time to time, sometimes in form, other whispering in her ear, but she did her best to hide the startling nature of her brother’s visits. She knew the consequences if others suspected her to be the wrong side of a “flipped coin.”

Arriving at King’s Landing and taking her rightful place as its ruler had not been the sweet homecoming she had always longed for.  There was nothing but the old memories of others to rely on where her family was concerned. Walking the halls of Red Keep felt no more like home than any of the other places she had conquered. Her only connection to the family she longed for were the whispered and hushed hallowed words of those who served her, an unsatisfying consolation for winning back her home. She had poured over volumes of her family’s histories, which included ancestors to be proud of, and others that seemed best to forget.

 _A conqueror? A noble and fair ruler? A queen that saved the realm?_  She wondered how she would be remembered.

It had been shortly after their arrival in Kings Landing when she demanded to be shown where she could find the old dragons.  Ser Barristan escorted her to the dark crypts where the skulls and bones of the dragons who went before her lay. Sliding her hand over their craggy skulls, she imagined each long deceased relative made famous in the songs and the stories. They had ridden these dragons;they had fought and won battles with these dragons;they had earned their place in the annals of history.  She felt closer to her ancestors in the presence of these bones, more than she had listening or reading about them. It made her realize that there was one haunting and fundamental difference in the lives of the Targaryens before her, and it was that they had been a family. She was alone, with never any prospect of another to keep her company. It was a sad and lonely thought.

“I do not wish them to be buried here in the darkness any longer,” Daenerys said to Ser Barristan.  

“Your father had them placed in the Great Hall prior to the usurpers’ reigns.”

“No. I do not wish them to be on display in that way. I just don’t want them to be in the dark.”  I will put them in one of the eastern towers; the morning light shall be their crowns.  Daenerys smiled, happy with the thought.

“Come Ser Barristan, we have a duel to attend.” Daenerys handed the torch back to Barristan Selmy, the light reflecting off the white and gold of his armour. He walked a step behind her and followed as bid.

The air was chilled; the sky grey, the field was half-frozen with sand and snow.  The winter here was bearable, nowhere near as bitterly cold as the winter had been in the north. How her subjects lived in that part of her realm was confounding. The bite of the winter made Danerys long for the warmth of the east, silk dresses, and perfumed gardens.

“Mulled wine, your Grace?” The servant girl, Aster set the tray before the Queen.  Daenerys sipped enjoying the cinnamon and honeyed notes of the wine as it rolled past her tongue and warmed her belly. A swirl of heat danced into the air around the top of the glass. Daenerys sighed. “Let us be done with this.”

She had not wanted to pit Drogon against the Kingslayer’s wife, but Tyrion had insisted it would be the best opportunity to display her power and fortitude as their Queen. “ _The people should know you will not suffer your enemies, and the fierceness of the dragon will spread throughout the land.  It is the perfect deterrent for those who would oppose your rule.”_

The pits reminded her too much of the ugliness of Mereen, but her Hand had persisted, and when Tyrion chose to argue; it was hard to deny him most anything.  Tyrion was loyal, one of the few she trusted along with SerBarristan and Grey Worm. The other knights on her guard were new to her, but Barristan seemed satisfied they would serve dutifully.

Daenerys made a gesture with her hand, summoning the pit master to open the combatants’ gate. A shining figure clad in silver armour walked onto the field; she was a tall strange woman, the Kingslayer's wife. Daenerys pitied her for her unlovely and brutish appearance, and could hardly believe that this woman was married to the infamous but notoriously handsome Jaime Lannister.  How they came to be paired was a mystery. As much as Daenerys despised the Kingslayer; she had to admit the man was fair to look upon.  He reminded her so much of another man that had been fair to look upon back in the east. Jaime Lannister had long escaped justice and now it was his time to answer for his crimes.

Tyrion had judged the love this large woman had for the Kingslayer accurately; he had been so sure that Brienne would offer herself in place of his brother.  He promised it would be _“a more suitable justice_. _”_   

She had not been so much as interested in Tyrion’s revenge as she was in executing the killer of her father, the man who in a single stroke of his blade had wrought upon her family's house, ruin and chaos.

_Yes.  They all needed to see him die. Even those from the mightiest houses must know their place._

From the far gates the Kingslayer was dragged into the pits.

“What is this?” Tyrion asked confused.

“It’s your brother,” Daenerys answered, her eyes never leaving Jaime Lannister.  

He wobbled as he walked, he had been beaten.

“But why?”Tyrion asked, his tone seemed overly concerned.

“What does it matter?  His wife will lose and he will be executed anyway.  You did tell me the people needed to witness the power of Drogon.  Let them witness it twice today.”

Brienne charged towards the Kingslayer as soon as she recognized the scene playing out before her. The crowds howled for her blood.

Daenerys did her best to remind herself that it was a show with purpose.  She sat up straight in her throne and yelled “Dracarys!”

A burst of orange lit up the dark clouds in the east as her mighty black dragon flew in, heading straight for the open arena where he expected to find the rewarded with a fat cow, sheep, or horse.  As he swooped in closer towards the arena, the people quieted, for most it would be the first time they had witnessed the power of her most magnificent dragon.  Daenerys smiled as she admired his form descending upon them from the clouds; she wished she was on his back in that moment; there was nothing more exhilarating than riding Drogon, and a part of her celebrated that she would be the only one to ever know that thrill.  

Daenerys pulled her eyes away from her dragon and was amazed that the armour-clad woman managed to make it to her husband’s side; she arrived just in time to raise her shield, blocking Drogon’s flames.  The dragon passed over, and the two knights stood unharmed. The Kingslayer thrust his wife's arm up into the air. Daenerys surveyed the crowds around her, dismayed they were cheering for Brienne. _Surely they couldn’t want harm to come to my dragon?_ Drogon circled back. Brienne planted herself protectively in front of her husband, crouched with shield raised and sword in hand.  It was ridiculous, but the sight of her made Daenerys anxious for the well being of her dragon. Drogon soared in; lowering his body, the muscles in his neck rippled as he thrust his large head forward, a cascade of flame erupting from his jaws.  Daenerys gasped as the fire fell short, and as the dragon attempted to climb higher. Brienne ran forward leaping into the air, her cruel blade opening his stomach, Daenerys screamed in horror as his blood hit the sand.

Wounded and disoriented, Drogon wobbled into the stands, crashing violently just below where she was sitting.  Daenerys jumped up to aid her dragon. The people shrieked in panic all around her, trampling each other in their attempt to escape being crushed by his large injured form.

 _He is hurt! Can’t they see he is hurt? “_ Drogon!”  She called attempting to calm him as he unleashed a scorching blaze upon the crowd.

Brienne ran towards Drogon shouting, calling his attention away from the people. Daenerys watched helplessly as her dragon was drawn back into the pit. Drogon unleashed another wave of flame at Brienne, who blocked the onslaught of fire, he became angered and rammed her with his skull, sending the woman flying into the center of the ring.  Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief. “Finish her. Finish her,” Daenerys whispered through gritted teeth.  

  
Drogon hissed, his jaws snapping at the woman. She held him back with a series of strikes of her blade, but she was winded and injured.  It would all be over soon. Daenerys allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, and then Drogon raised his head in a most peculiar way.

The wave of red that spewed from his throat shocked and silenced the crowds.  Daenerys howled an anguished cry as she ran onto the field, begging the woman to stop, but it was far too late.  Brienne stood over the dragon and hacked at his neck, ending his life.

_The blood, there is so much blood…_

She didn’t remember holding the woman’s arm up in victory; she didn’t remember giving the order to butcher her eldest for meat; she didn’t remember ordering the guards to release the Kingslayer, all she could remember was the blood.  Blood and the strange sight of her silvered- haired brother scowling as he stood to the side surrounded by the enraptured crowd.

 

 

Grey Worm and Tyrion rode beside her, the roar of the battle could be heard in the distance, the enemy had been battering the gates for some length, and it would only be a matter of time before they pooled in. Daenerys reluctantly made her way towards the doors of the dragon pit.

“Grey Worm, stay here and guard the doors,” Tyrion instructed. Daenerys nodded, and Grey Worm did as he was bid. The Queen and the Hand pressed through into the outer holds of the pens.  A vast space filled with sand, turned colourful and glassy from the heat of her dragon’s flames.

Daenerys heart raced as she crossed the outer holds marching towards the massive iron doors that lead to the pens where Viserion was kept within.  Daenerys could feel the warmth of his fires grow with each step forward.

“I’m sorry my Grace,” Tyrion said as he halted mid way to the iron doors.  “I think it would be best if we do not release your dragons.”

Daenerys eyes narrowed.  There was no logic in him trying to get her to keep her dragons penned, not after he had been trying so vehemently to release them. “What are you saying to me?  When I am here, about to open their doors?” The thick iron doors were the only thing that kept her dragons held within.  She was mere paces away from unleashing them.

 _He is tricking you.  He’s always been tricking you, but you are too bloody stupid to see that._ Viserys snarled at her as he came to her side.   

“Where are the pit masters?” Daenerys ignored her brother, and looked for the workers who tended to her dragons.  

“Your Grace, it is not too late to surrender to Stannis.  You can save the city, he will treat you fairly.  We can make peace terms…”

_Don’t listen to him. He has made a fool of you._

“To unleash them now would only bring about more carnage and death.”

_Good.  Show the people what it means to defy us!_

“Shutup!” Daenerys screamed at them both. Tyrion looked to the shadows behind her.

“Why?” She asked her Hand, her faithful Tyrion, the voice of reason whenever she required.  “Why have you betrayed me?”

His mismatched eyes reflected regret and sadness. “When I met you I was a slave, poor and powerless.  I do not intend to ever be any of those things again. Stannis would not have been my first choice, but he is what is best for the realm, just as you were at one time.  I’m sorry, my Queen.  Bronn.”

Danerys looked down to her left breast, a sliver of steel gleamed at her from below, _that is no place for a sword_ … she thought as she sank down to the dirt, and the blade was pulled from her chest. She gripped the wound and attempted to yell for Grey Worm, to scream ‘dracarys’, but instead only a bubbling of blood escaped her lips.

Her face scrapped and cut by tiny shards of jagged glass as she lay dying. Viserys came beside her, his pale hand brushing her hair away from her face. _“It is hard to die unmourned is it not?”_ He whispered into her ear.  She closed her eyes as the sound of the dragon from within wailed terribly.

 _I will be mourned…_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I am grateful for Commasplice for being my beta reader. I seriously should have harassed someone ages ago to do this :)
> 
> Oh and thank-you thank-you thank-you, to everyone who supplied so much feedback for the last chapter. I was grinning like a fool. Much love!


	35. The Mourning of a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragon's mourn their mother.

“Quick! Hit me,” Tyrion hissed.

“Pardon?”Bronn looked at him amused.

“Hit me in the fa…” A smacking blow sent Tyrion reeling down into the dirt, his palms cut by the jagged glass as he landed next to Daenerys lifeless body.

“Part of me has always wanted to do that.” Bronn grinned.

“Oh really?”Tyrion asked as he sat rubbing the aching lower part of his jaw. “Go! Before Grey Worm is drawn in by this dragon’s howling.”

“I could hit you again.  Might be more believable, you know, if you were bloodier.”

Ignoring Bronn,Tyrion waved his arms motioning for the man to flee, “Go!”

Bronn sauntered over to the shadows as if he was on a stroll in a summer garden.

Tyrion clutched his ears as the creatures within the pit shrieked for its fallen mother.  The cries made his bones rattle.

The noise drew Grey Worm inside his white cloak floating behind him as he crossed the large room towards Tyrion, his pace quickened as he realized it was her motionless form lying in the sand. “My queen!” he cried.

Tyrion watched him with curiosity, wondering what emotions would be displayed upon the eunuchs face. The man never seemed to be moved by anything, in all the years that Tyrion had known him, and he couldn’t ever recall a smile, cry, or a stitch of anger to cross his face.

“How?” Grey Worm looked to Tyrion with questioning eyes, no tears present.

Tyrion made a concerted effort to wipe away the blood dribbling down his swollen lip and chin.

“An assassin.  He was too quick. He hit me and slayed the queen.”

Grey Worm knelt silently beside her.“Which way did he go?” he asked unsheathing his sword.  

Tyrion pointed in the opposite direction of where Bronn had left.

As Viserion howled, a smashing blow into the walls startled them both.

“We can’t stay here.” Tyrion looked at the iron doors, another fearsome jolt from within rattled the bars that locked the door, and shook the sand from the stones.

Grey Worm did not move; he looked to Daenerys, unsure with what to do. Finally he spoke. “We cannot leave her here.”

“No.  Good. You’re right.  Pick her up, let us go…” Another shriek came from within, and the metal doors buckled outwards, a glow of orange flame blasted through the crack followed by more screeching.

Grey Worm looked at Daenerys as if he would somehow burst into flame if he dared to touch her; the groaning of the metal and a larger eruption of fire was enough to force the guard to act. He gathered the silvery queen in his arms and carried her back towards the entrance, her limbs dangled limply, her hands coated in blood, Grey Worm’s silhouette and cloak was lined with the morning light now streaming through the entrance of the outer doors.  

It was truly a beautiful and haunting vision, one that made Tyrion feel remorseful for what he had done. He prayed that soldiers would arrive in time, gold cloaks or invaders, he did not care which.

“Take her to the Keep! I will find aid; we need to secure those dragons!”  Tyrion commanded.

Grey Worm did as he was bid; he placed the queen upon the back of his horse, mounted, and secured her in his arms.

“Grey Worm.” Tyrion bade him halt before he could ride off. “When she is… secure. Cease the fighting.  I do not wish any more damage to the city or harm to the people.  The city now belongs to Stannis.”

Grey Worm’s eyes flickered briefly with resistance, but nodded and rode off with his deceased queen.

Tyrion as satisfied as he could be that the battle would soon be over, he hastened his stride towards the raucous noise of the streets leading to the Dragon’s Gate. His thoughts turned to his brother, he desperately hoped that Jaime’s astounding luck had managed to keep him safe.

As if summoned by the thought, his brother’s familiar figure rode in from the streets. A band of mounted knights accompanied him, a banner depicting a blue lion on a magenta field flowing behind.

“Jaime!” Tyrion exclaimed.  

There was mirth present in Jaime’s eyes, and a broad smile planted upon his face.  He was bloodied and soiled, but he looked more alive than he had in his many months at Kings Landing.  

“By the Seven!”Tyrion stared in shock at the tall figure to his left, “How can this be?” he whispered.

Jaime halted before Tyrion.  “Brother you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”  Jaime’s face practically glowed with joviality.

“My Lady,” Tyrion stammered… “How?”  

“There will be time for that later.  Where is the Queen?” Brienne asked looking towards the pits.  The furry and rumbling of her dragons could be heard within.

Tyrion rememberedhimself and recounted the story he had fabricated months ago, “The Queen is dead, assassinated... the city is Stannis’, providing there is a city to rule.  The dragons are in a rage over her death, one of them, Viserion I believe, are breaking through the wall. I don’t know how much longer it can hold.”

“How?” Jaime asked.

“An assassin, he was waiting in the pits.  I thought he was one of yours.” Tyrion looked to their men.

“No, not ours,” Brienne answered firmly.  “Her dragons?  Are they contained?”

“I fear not for much longer,” As if to reaffirm Tyrion’s fear a battering of the inner walls shook so fiercely from the pits the rumbling resonated beneath the soles of their feet.  Some of the horses reared in fright.

“We haven't much time,” Jaime said, his lips pressed thin.

“What are you proposing?” Tyrion asked.

“We need to kill the dragons while they’re contained.  We can’t have them flying about wreaking havoc upon the city.”

“Jaime it’s far too dangerous,” Tyrion said.

“Jaime is right.” Brienne supported her husband, “We should finish this now, while there is still an opportunity.”

A giant roar of men could be heard in the distance coming from the gates near the water, it was a victorious cry. _Someone had been successful._  Tyrion was willing to bet all the gold in Casterly Rock that it had been Stannis.

Tyrion considered Jaime’s wife. She had changed since he had last laid eyes on her all those many years ago.  She was more steely and confident; she spoke and carried herself with a demeanor that commanded respect.  Tyrion couldn’t help but admire this woman, a freak like he who had somehow managed to garner the respect of these men and lead them into battle.

“Let us finish this.”Brienne kicked her horse, urging her stallion forward. Jaime waved his sword in the air, and their knights followed.

Tyrion watched.  He had no more moves to play.  “Perhaps it is for the best,” he whispered, too bewildered with Brienne’s presence to dwell on the peril his brother was willingly riding in to.

The duo followed by their knights raced inside the outer doors of the pits, as he watched his brother and wife’s form disappear inside. Tyrion could feel his feet pulling him forward to follow.His breath and heartbeat quickened as he raced onwards, anxious for the safety of his brother. _Why must it always be him?_

More of their Sapphire Knights arrived on foot; hundreds streamed by him with weapons in hand they pressed forward to join their fellow soldiers inside. One knight collapsed to the ground.  Tyrion hastened to aid the fallen knight when an angry roar erupted from inside, louder than all the cries before, the sound blasted from inside, followed by a burst of thick black smoke, dark plumes rolled out of the arena, the shrieks of the burning men within assaulted his ears.

Tyrion froze in mute shock. “Gods no... Jaime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one was short, but I have the next chapter complete already. Will post as soon as I can.
> 
> Thank-you to Commasplice for her beta reading skills! (look I spelled 'beta' correct that time). Go me!


	36. Eye of the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dragons live and are enraged, the smoke clears and it is up to the Sapphire Knights to quell their wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you to Commasplice for beta reading this chapter :)

The smoke clogged his lungs causing him to cough violently; all his anguished thoughts were consumed with Brienne.  She had been right beside him.

He stumbled blindly waving away the dense black smoke and cried out so loudly it tore at his throat, “Brienne!”

Men were on fire all around him they shrieked and hissed inside their armour.   When the blast of fire and stone had erupted he rolled one way, Brienne had gone another. _I will not lose her, I will not lose her_. He surveyed the area around him.   _Surely the gods could not be so cruel to take her again. But they are_. A voice inside him whispered. He _knew_ they could be that cruel.

The dragon violently shoved its muzzle out of the hole it had created in the stone surrounding the giant iron doors.  The chain around its neck was broke and dangling from the beast’s collar, each link was as thick as his arm.  

Jaime shuddered at the thought of its strength. “Get on the other side!” He screamed to those who could still move, the others that lay smoldering and dying, he could do little for.  The knights that were able heeded his instructions and pressed on to the other side of the hold, away from the direction of the dragon’s fiery breath.

“Brienne!” He shouted desperately, “Brienne!”

“Here!” a voice called.

Jaime spun in the direction of the voice and swam through the tendrils of smoke, his eyes stinging.

Jaime panicked as he spied Brienne laying motionless at Tyrion’s feet, the crown of her head and side of her face painted with blood; she was strewn amongst the stone rubble that had been a part of the wall.

The terror in Jaime’s heart must have been displayed unbridled across his face, as Tyrion yelled, “She’s alive Jaime! She’s alive!”

“Thank the gods!” He exhaled with relief. He bent down to pick her up; as heavy as she was in her full armour he managed.  “Tyrion, you need to leave!”

“No. Not this time.“ Tyrion picked up her fallen blade, dragging it behind him as they moved to the side of the pits, away from the reach of the dragon’s flames.

Another wave of fire erupted from the hole it had created in the wall.  The lifeless and injured bodies of the fallen were further blackened.  The smell was a horrendously charred meaty smell that turned Jaime’s stomach violently.

“Stay here with her. Please.” Jaime set Brienne against the wall, resting her head as gently as he could, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

Jaime looked to his brother; he could see him thinking of a way to argue a retreat. Blessedly for once Tyrion bit his tongue. “Cross bows, arrows!” Jaime shouted to the knights that had not fled.

A few men came forward, weapons in hand.

“Aim for its head when it peeks through. Hit it in the eyes if you can manage it.”

The archers pulled their arrows back, bows taut and ready.  One man held a cross bow in his shaky hands.  

A snort of flame burst through the hold again, followed by the brief appearance of the dragon’s head.

“Hold,” Jaime commanded.

Only the tip of its nostrils appeared, he waited for the dragon to push forward more, another cascade of blocks fell from the wall. The beast pulled back and slammed against the wall hard again.

“Hold,” he repeated.

It screeched and finally he could see its giant yellow reptilian eye peeking through the rubble.

“Now!” he shouted.

The dragons scaly skin proved far too thick, all but one arrow fell uselessly to the sandy floor below. The dragon shrieked in pain., Its one eye pierced, the arrow stuck pointing outwards, the dragon pulled its head back into its den as it recoiled and screamed.

Jaime grabbed his sword and went to the opening.  

“Jaime! What in the seven hells are you doing?” Tyrion screamed after him.

 _Something stupid_ … he thought. _Something brave and stupid, something she would do._

Jaime flattened his back against the door, the heat of the iron burned against his bare skin; he did his best not to touch the surface. Sword in hand he waited.

A thunderous jolt sent him forward as the dragon rammed the tip of his snout out the creature seemed more wary of the men that had attacked it.  Slowly it pressed out further, sniffing and growling. Its left eye was now free of the arrow, but the injured orb remained shut. Jaime said a prayer and shoved his sword through its eyelid.  A terrible scream of fire blasted by him but he managed to hold on, the force of the dragon pulling him back into the doors.  Spinning Jaime used his foot and golden hand to keep from being pulled further into the hole. The dragon slammed him against the shattered wall; Jaime let go and dropped to the ground, with a sharp flash of movement one of the dragon’s talons curled its way out, finding where he lay. Jaime let out a short cry as the air was  forced from his lungs, his armour began to buckle in the grips of the dragon’s talons. Jaime’s face reddened and purpled as he was crushed.

“Jaime!” Brienne yelled running sword in hand, her face bloodied and eyes shining brightly.

She slid beneath the dragons, bent low and forced her blade up through the bottom of its chin.  

Jaime was released as the dragon collapsed and fell to the floor, gasping for air he coughed into the dirt.

Brienne maneuvered to avoid being crushed by its falling head; she rolled into Jaime as he struggled to breath.

“Jaime…” Brienne clung to his side, gently trying to aid him.

“Dammit, _cough_ , woman. When _cough_ , are you ever _,_ going to let me _cough_ , save you?”

“Well, there was that one time in the woods at Casterly Rock,” she said with a sheepish grin.

“I’ll wipe that smirk from your lips.” He gathered her in his arms and kissed her deeply, much too deeply for the company present, but he was done with giving a fuck for decorum. He leaned into her pressing her down to the ground, ignoring the dragon’s blood that was pooling around them.  It was the sound of their men cheering and hooting that caused them to desist in their display of passion.

Brienne pulled away a bloom of blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

Tyrion came forward and cleared his throat. “I hate to break up this beautiful reunion, I truly do. But I feel the need to remind you, there is another dragon to consider.”

Jaime’s eyes locked with Brienne’s.  Neither wanted to attempt what they had just done a second time. Jaime reluctantly rose from the ground, holding his hand out to his wife to pull her up.  He stepped into the puddle of dragon’s blood, his boots sinking into the soft mud.  Jaime gingerly placed his hand on the lifeless skull of the dragon, finding a grip he placed his foot and stepped onto it.

“What are you doing?” Brienne and Tyrion asked in unison.

“I want to know why it is so quiet.” The silence of the other dragon was eerie, and somehow managed to put him on edge, more so than the shrieks and cries of Viserion.Jaime bent through the opening of the pen and he jumped back with fright.  The other dragon was sitting closer than he had expected, its chains still intact. Rhaegal sat calmly, its eyes blinking almost sleepily.  The posture of the dragon seemed as non-threatening as a dragon possibly could.  

“What is it doing?” Tyrion asked.

“Nothing,” Jaime responded.  

“Nothing?” Tyrion questioned.

“Yes. Nothing.”

“Come away from there!” Brienne directed in a tone he had not heard since they were with their children at Tarth. He smiled at the sound and pulled away from the slain dragon.

“I don’t think it is going to be trouble. I would find workers to repair this.” Jaime gestured towards the mess of the wall.

Tyrion seemed happy to have a problem he could manage. “Agreed. I will direct who I can.”

Jaime put his arm around Brienne’s waist, she leaned her wounded head into the crook of his neck.

“You do that.  I am going to find quarters for my wife to rest.”  The gods be good, resting was the last thing on his mind, and he hoped hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They live!  
> Ok, now I end it here. The end.
> 
> arrrgh... fine, fine... "reunion" time.  
> How mad would you be if I threw another "Dany" chapter at you?


	37. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes find a moment together.

Brienne had argued with him all the way to his brother’s sumptuous quarters. Jaime didn’t understand her obstinance. Tyrion could tend to their injured, call the septas, and take care of their dead he reasoned. And yet she persisted that they should stay. He tried to persuade her otherwise. There was nothing they could do.  Their men would be looked after, Tyrion promised him that. His brother had given Jaime a knowing look as he reassured Brienne that their knights would be well tended to.  Only then would she leave the bleakness of the dragon pits behind.

He had to bash at the gates of Tyrion's new palace until finally a frightened servant answered his call.  Recognizing him as Tyrion’s brother, they were granted passage. The Hand of the Queen had done well for himself and there were plenty of rooms to choose from.  He ordered a bath be prepared and clean clothing.

Jaime and Brienne half carried each other down the halls as they followed the servant girl leading them to a place they could rest. They clung to each other, exhausted, battered, war torn, and beyond elated to be with each other again. The girl pressed open a door and stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

Brienne persisted in disagreeing with their detour to Tyrion’s quarters, “We should make way to the Keep. Stannis will have taken the city by now; he will be expecting a report on what has happened.”

Jaime kissed her plump lips. “No.” He stared at her hard, daring her to continue with her arguments.

Two servants scurried in to prepare their bath in the room adjacent to their sleeping quarters.

Jaime lead Brienne to a table where food had been brought to them; the spread looked better than any of the Queen’s exotic and extravagant dishes he had been forced to shovel into his mouth all these many months.  Instead it was a soldier’s fare of cold meats and an assortment of cheeses, ripe fruits and bread.  “Sit. Eat.” He directed Brienne to a chair.

She cringed as she lowered herself into her seat, as did he.  He wondered how badly she was injured beneath her armour.  It was times like these when he wished he had a wife who was an expert at needlework instead of sword play.

Brienne reached for a fat peach, her dirtied and bloodied fingers rubbing against the fuzz. Sighing she bit into it; the sweet juices dribbled down her chin. Wiping it away with the back of her hand, she chewed and swallowed. Jaime couldn’t take his eyes off of her. This time yesterday he thought her dead, and now she sat before him eating fruit. _I sincerely wish those women would hurry up with that bath._

“I have so much to tell you,” she said breaking their silence. “It is not all pleasant.”

“You know you can tell me anything,” Jaime reassured her helping himself to a pear.

Brienne looked to the ceiling of the room, as if searching for an answer on where to start.

He tried to help by prompting her. “Tell me how you survived the storm.” Thinking of those black clouds rolling over the water chilled the blood in his veins.

“Our boat was wrecked and sinking; we were saved by a ship.”

“They brought you home?” Jaime asked.

“No,” she said with venom. “We were apprehended by pirates, slavers.”

“Who else was with you?”

“Dustin and Torgys.”

He couldn’t help but detect the bitterness when she said the former man’s name.  Dustin he could faintly remember, but Torgys was the sort one did not forget easily. Stripped face and fierce, he was one of their best.

“Jaime I lost your sword,” Brienne said mournfully covering her face with her hand to hide her tears, peach still in the other.

Jaime rushed to her side and knelt before her. “Stop,” he pleaded. He took her hands away from her crumpled face and said, “Don’t you see?  You are the only thing that matters. You are the only thing I care about!” Jaime smiled, hoping to calm and reassure her.

“I kissed Tyrion’s wife!” she blurted out, her tone stricken and pained.

Jaime let go of her hands his mind bewildered and yet he somehow managed to stutter, “Sansa? How can that be?”

“No, his first wife.  The crofter’s daughter.  Tysha. She saved me Jaime.  She saved me from slavery, he was going to rape me and she saved me.”

Jaime’s mind reeled with her words, he desperately wanted to grasp on to some reasoning, some logic, but could find none. Instead he focused on the one emotion he did understand. “Who was going to _rape_ you?”  Murder glinted in the green of his eyes.

“A wealthy man from Mereen, he forced me to fight in the pits.  He’s dead.”

Jaime paced the room, feeling his wife’s anxious eyes following him as he walked back and forth. He stopped and turned to her. “Tyrion’s first wife?” He was truly baffled.

“Tysha escaped to the east, used the coin from the brutality your father had orchestrated; she wanted to travel as far away as she could from Westeros.  When her coin ran out, she sought work in the pleasure houses.  She was the only one who would listen to me; she was the only one who dared help.  Jaime, if it wasn’t for her I would still be there, you would still think me dead, I could be dead.  I don’t think I could have suffered that life very long…”

 “Your bath, Ser.” The servant woman parted the sheer drapery to the side, revealing a marble bath, steam rising and curling in the slants of the golden afternoon sun light. The water glimmered like melted gold.

The woman had the good sense to leave quickly.

Jaime gritted his teeth. Brienne watched him in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other.

“Brienne, we have our whole lives to speak more of this.  I do not feel any differently.  You are here and that is all that matters.  That is all that will ever matter.” He held out his hand which she accepted. “Come here. Today we speak no more of it.”

She bit her lip and looked down; guilt pooled in her eyes.  He ignored it and set to work on releasing her from her armour.  The work was frustrating one-handed, and she assisted him as if she could feel his temper growing.  She removed her chainmail revealing a shift beneath, white, thin and soiled with blood, sweat and dirt.  She lifted it from her torso and stood before him, naked from the waist up. Her skin was sun-kissed and freckled, the little spots much darker than when she had left home.  He wanted to kiss every one of them.

He started with his favourite, just below her ear, delighting as she shivered within his arms.

She halted his advances pressing him back gently with her hands; blue eyes determined beneath a brow crusted with blood. She worked at loosening the buckles and leather straps binding his armour. She released him from the prison of his Queensguard uniform greaves and sabatons first, then worked at the bent and crumpled pieces of his chest plate and back, the metal splintered from the talons of the dragon’s claws. Finished with his armour, she unbuckled her greaves, and stepped free.

Both as naked as their name days, she reached for his face, softly rubbing the beard he had let grow. “Did they not supply you with a razor?” She smiled teasingly, and walked away from him towards the bath.

Jaime licked his lips and growled as he watched her naked arse move delightfully with each stride. He stood transfixed, the beams of light from the golden hued windows dancing across her pale skin, the spell only broken when she submerged herself into the large pool of water.

He smiled as she resurfaced, her hair dripping, beads of water rolling down her face and neck, steam rising and floating all around her. “Aren’t you joining me?” she asked innocently.

He would not keep her waiting.

The water was almost too hot as he stepped down into the bath. Brienne slyly watched him as he slowly lowered himself further. He enjoyed the feeling of her gaze directed towards his naked form, almost as much as he enjoyed watching her.  She was rubbing a soft bristled brush over her neck, her skin deliciously pink, close to the colour it bloomed when they fucked.

 _I can’t take this anymore…_ Jaime thought as he dipped his head below the water, swimming to her in one fluid motion breaking the surface he reemerged a sliver away from her. “Brienne,” he whispered as he pulled her into him.  His cock throbbed almost painfully as he pressed it into her inner thigh.  

He folded his arms around her torso, as she encircled his neck with her arms, her marvelous skin pressing against his. She opened her mouth, accepting his hungry kiss.  She made wonderfully maddening moans as he moved his tongue inside, fuller and deeper.  He lifted her slightly, her legs spreading as she straddled his thigh.  The heat of her sex was somehow warmer than the water; the feeling of it against his bent knee made him dizzy with lust.

Her lips parted and their tongues found each other again, the small sounds of pleasure she was making driving him insane, and he felt the need to make the noise grow.  Lifting her out of the bath, she sat before him, the steam danced around her like gentle tendrils of smoke.

“Jaime, what are you doing?”

 “Quiet, woman. The only thing I want to hear out of you is my name, and more of that moaning.” He forced her legs apart, meeting with little resistance and kissed her at the knee first. He worked his way up to her inner thigh.  She was obedient and did not object further. Pulling her closer to the edge he buried his face in her, his tongue slowly lapping at all the spots he knew would make her sing.

The more he worked his tongue, the greater her moans and gasps grew, the sound echoing off the marble walls of the bath, until finally she carnally uttered his name, her fingers gripped at the back of his head, pulling at his wet hair.  He looked up at her enjoying the vision of her pale skin turned all shades of red and pink, her chest rising and falling like a scared rabbit. Pulling himself out of the tub he left little time for respite.

 “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she cried as he kissed her long warm neck and thrust his cock into her wet cunt. The way she sheathed him, hot and tight, nearly sent him over the edge. Steeling himself, Jaime pumped his hips, deep and hard, the thumb of his left hand digging into the soft skin of her inner thigh. As he drove in and out of her, her eyes squeezed shut and she turned her head to the side. She brought her hand to her mouth, biting into a knuckle in an attempt to quiet her cries of pleasure, strands of her wet matted hair plastered to her freckled face and neck. The sight of his magnificent warrior wife, a dragonslayer, leader of armies, a legend from song, said his name again, a muffled and sensuous whimper. She was his; he had conquered her, and had turned her into this writhing creature of lust and want. Jaime roared as he felt the throb of his pleasure give way, spilling his seed inside her he collapsed, great exhalations of relief as his face settled into the crook of her neck.  “Gods, I love you,” he whispered into her ear. He closed his eyes enjoying the sensation of her fingers caressing the hair at the back of his neck. Pressing himself up slightly he narrowed his green eyes on her large blue ones. “Don’t you ever leave me again,” he said gruffly.

“Never,” she said as her gentle hands came to rest at the side of his face, rubbing the scruff that had grown around his jaw. “Never, Jaime.” She kissed him, softly and sweetly. “Never.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to my 2 beta readers! Commasplice & YellowDelaney. I knew I had to deliver for this chapter... so I enlisted the help of not 1 but 2 beta readers. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!


	38. Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange note pulls Sansa from Casterly Rock out into the snowy night.

Sansa read the words again, and again, then once more.

 

_Sansa. Meet me at the big well in the center of the village. Or I will tar your hair in your sleep._

_– Arya_

 

The letters were crude, and several words had been misspelled, but it was her.  It was Arya.

Sansa gasped and fell to her chair. Her one hand trembled as she brought it to her mouth as the other hand held the tiny scroll. She wanted to flee from her room immediately; she would have run into the snow barefootstraight for the village and to the well had she been on the lower levels of the castle.  The note in her hand felt like a secret, one she should hide, save, or burn.  Sansa eyed the fire and found she couldn’t bring herself to toss the little note into its flames. Instead she gripped it tightly in her hand and brought it to her chest, small cry escaped her lips, followed by a genuine happy smile.   

_Arya lives!  What story can I devise?  Does it matter?_

No one paid much attention to her.  Tyrion was in Kings Landing again, performing whatever duties with which was he was currently obsessed.  Genna Lannister remained at the Rock. Sansa knew she was meant to be a companion for her.  Sansa found the woman a bit meddlesome and overbearing.  Sansa much preferred to stay tucked away in her room, only coming out for meals when expected, or taking the occasional walk in the snowy courtyards, where when she closed her eyes the smell of the crisp winter air reminded her of home.  

 _To leave my room at this hour? To venture outside the gates?  What possible reason could I fabricate? Stop thinking like a child,_  Sansa thought. _I am the Lady of Casterly Rock, and if I feel like going for a late night ride.  I will._ She pulled the rope to summon her maid so she could be dressed.

 _Arya lives, Arya lives_ the words rang in her head like a bell. Impatient for the maid she started to pull her warmest clothes from the wardrobe.

Every servant she called upon hesitated when Sansa asked to be dressed, when she requested her horse to be saddled, when she demanded the guards to leave her be.  With each objection and minor argument from their lips,she gave them a level look and repeated her order, emulating what she hoped was her best ‘Lady of Casterly Rock’ tone.  It had worked, but she knew it would not be long until loose tongues flapped and Genna would be told of Lady Sansa’s strange request to ride into the village so late at night.  Sansa kicked her horse and flew through the snow.

_Arya lives, Arya lives…_

The girl at the well was taller than she remembered, but by her posture, the way she leaned against the well picking at the dirt in her nails with her dark hair hanging in her face, she was Arya. There was no doubt in Sansa’s heart.

_It is her._

Sansa stopped her horse from going further; the animals snorted and shook his head, small flakes of snow flying all around him.  Sansa patted his mane, her eyes never leaving her sister’s as Arya stared back at her.  It was like they were both frozen in place, standing there staring at each other, in the midst of some wonderful spell that each was afraid to break. 

Arya was the first to speak, “Have you any food?”

It had been almost two years since she had last seen her sister, _and these are the first words from her lips?_   “No,” Sansa replied. Arya came closer, her eyes shifting about as if she was expecting some hidden danger.

 Sansa wanted to jump down from her horse and wrap her arms about her little sister so badly, but she knew it would be a disaster in her skirts.

Arya smirked recognizing her need for assistance she reached up, taking Sansa’s hand in her own.  

Sansa was wearing dyed red gloves, made from soft fine leather; Arya’s were wool; the finger tips poked out through frayed ends, they looked much too large on her, like they had belonged to a man.  Gathering her skirts, Sansa jumped down from the horse and held her sister to her as tightly as she could. She smelled of a haystack, mud, chopped wood, and even a little of Lady’s fur.  It was the sweetest perfume to ever greet her nose.  Sansa sobbed into her sister’s hair.

“How?” She reluctantly pulled away to stare upon her sister’s small face. “How is it that you are here?”

“I was told I needed to find you,” Arya said.

“By who? Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows where I am,.” Sansa said.  Her sister’s answer was no answer at all.

“We have much to speak of, but I’m hungry, and so is Gendry.”

“Who?”

“He’s chopping wood at the inn. Do you have coin?” Arya asked as she pulled her sister along towards the inn. Sansa held the reins of her horse and followed, trying to keep up with her sisters brisk stride.

“No, but they will know me.”

“Good.  Because I do not want to sleep in the wood shed tonight.”

Sansa thought of suggesting they turn back towards the Rock, but then thought better of it, she did not want to have to answer the multitude of questions she was sure would fly from Genna’s mouth.  A quiet moment with her sister was more likely to be had at the inn. In truth she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this free, she was almost giddy.

The broad shouldered young man chopping wood stopped his work as Arya let out a sharp whistle. The wood splintered and his axe nearly ran through his toe.

“Damn it Arya!” he swore as he turned around to curse her further. “Oh,” he said noticing Sansa standing beside her. Taking off his hat he said, “Apologies m’lady.”

Arya gave him a strange look. 

Sansa smiled and nodded.

“I’m hungry. You don’t need to chop any more of this wood.” Arya tramped through the snow towards the door of the inn.

Sansa followed her sister, and Gendry tagged behind. The young man offered to tie her horse to the hitching post outside the inn, she graciously accepted his offer.

  
Sansa stirred the grey looking gravy in her bowl, chunks of pale shredded and unidentifiable meat poking out of the sludge. She pushed the bowl away and watched in disgust as her sister and Gendry gobbled it down like a couple of dogs back from a hunt.  She glanced at the innkeeper who immediately directed his gaze away to polish furiously at a cracked stone kettle in his hands.

There was so much to tell her sister, there was more to know, but they would have all the time in the world.  

 _She will come with her back to the Rock, this strange large wood-chopper could come too if it pleases her. I’m sure I could find work for him. What was he to her?_  Sansa wondered.

Gendry as if feeling her eyes upon him glanced up from his meal, gravy on his lips. Embarrassed as their eyes met, he looked back down.

Arya gave her a knowing look and rolled her eyes.

 _She thinks I like him?_  Sansa arched an eyebrow in amusement.   _Heavens, no._

 _“_ So who wanted you to come ‘find’ me?” Sansa asked.

“Bran,” Arya said through a mouthful of food.

Sansa sat silent and shocked at her blunt answer. _Bran? Bran was dead. Rickon too, but then again I thought Arya dead as well…_ “Bran is alive? Is Rickon with him?” Sansa’s mind reeled at the prospect her youngest brothers could be alive, but she steadied herself, remembering the cruelty of her mother’s current state of “life”.

“Kind of,” Arya said sopping some more of her stew with a piece of bread.

“What do mean _kind of_?”

Arya recounted the story of her trip to Winterfell, the whispers under the Weirwood, the crows, Ghost-Jon, her visit with their once-was-mother Lady Stoneheart, and finally their trek to Casterly Rock.“I get dreams sometimes, and I know its Bran.  Ghost-Jon is following us still, I hear him howl at night, but the further south I go the fainter Bran’s whispers are becoming.”

“Please come back with me tonight.” Sansa was dazzled by her sister’s tale, and it made her all the more terrified to be parted from her again.

“Are you sure your Lannister husband would like that?” Arya asked darkly.

“I am the Lady of the castle. Lord Tyrion’s wife,” Sansa answered back.

“How can you sound so proud of _that_?” Arya snarled.

Sansa prickled at her sister’s sharp words. It was a familiar feeling of irritation she hadn’t felt since they were children back at Winterfell.

Gendry as if sensing their discord interjected. “I’m sure it’s a fine castle, much better than sleeping on a woodpile under an ol’ shack.  I’ll gladly take you up on the invitation, Lady Sansa.”

Arya whirled upon him, “What happened to ‘they stuff themselves in their fancy castles while we starve and freeze?’”

Gendry cleared his throat and shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

Lannister guards burst in through the doors of the inn, a swirl of the winter snow fluttering in with them.

“Lady Sansa! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Your aunt is looking for you.”

“Aunt?” Arya asked.

“Aunt Genna. She insists I call her that.” Sansa felt awkward trying to explain her new life to her little sister, and instead focused on the guards. “I’m fine, thank-you.  This is…”

“Teena.” Arya interjected waving her spoon in a ‘hello’ to the guards, “and my brother, Lommy,” she pointed her spoon at Gendry.

Gendry choked on his stew, as the guards eyed them suspiciously.

“They are coming back with me.” Sansa rose from the table and straightened her skirts. She wore upon her face an expression that dared them to argue with her. It seemed to have the desired effect as the guards nodded.

“Please have a drink. We’ll leave as soon as they are finished.” Sansa returned to her seat as the guards shuffled away to another table, only hazarding the smallest of glances towards the trio.

Gendry grinned and whispered, “Well done!”

Sansa smiled back, pleased with herself.

Arya rolled her eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to Commasplice who spotted some major boo-boo's in this chapter. What did I ever do without her?
> 
> Mostly made major grammatical errors and got secondary characters names all wrong :P


	39. Out into the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya, Sansa and Gendry return to the 'Rock'.

“I think it’s best if we keep your identity cloaked, ‘Teena’. It was good of you to come up with names so quickly.” Sansa looked to Arya reassuringly.

The compliment was unnecessary, Arya thought of telling her so, but simply nodded. If only she knew the many names she had been.

“You will come back with me. I will find you work at the castle. Do you have any discernable skills?” Sansa questioned.

“Huh?” Gendry looked puzzled.

“He’s a blacksmith,” Arya replied.

“A blacksmith. That is good, I’ll find work for you in the kitchens, and have you elevated to hand maid in time.”

“Hand maid!” Arya exclaimed.

“Yes, you can dress me.  I certainly won’t have you near my hair,” Sansa jested lightly, a faint smile crossing her lips.

“It’s a good plan Lady Sansa,” Gendry offered.

Arya couldn’t identify what it was about the easy nature in which Sansa and Gendry conversed but she didn’t like it. Every time she caught Gendry looking at her sister, or she at him it left a sour feeling in her stomach.On the surface Sansa was the same perfect silken and embroidered creature she had always been.  Her long, intricately braided auburn hair had somehow managed to stay in place despite her snow-flurried horse ride. But beneath Sansa’s poised exterior Arya could see her sister had changed; she had the eyes of one who held secrets, hidden well behind pleasant smiles and gentle gazes.As Gendry complimented Sansa again, Arya recognized with bitter realization how she must appear next to her lovely sister. She was small, dirty and rough; yes, she would pass nicely as a scullery maid.

Sansa flattened her skirts and rose from the table, with a raised voice she said, “I thank-you Lommy for helping with my horse. I insist you both come back with us.”

 _How easily she has adopted our new names,_ Arya thought of refusing the offer; she was curious to see how her sister would manage the resistance to her plan.  

 _Aren’t I here to takeher away from this place? To take her north? I’ve not come here only to be lead into this lion’s den that she seems content to be a prisoner of. Have I?_ Arya found herself wishing for Bran’s voice again.Arya observed Sansa as she gave instruction to the Lannister guards for their trek back to the castle; it was in that moment that her sister reminded her so much of their mother, like how she was when she was the Lady of Winterfell.

Arya rode double with Gendry; Sansa beside them on her mount; and one guard who accompanied the trio back to Casterly Rock. The other guard had been left behind; the man had seemed happy enough to be left with a running tab at the inn, as did the inn keep.

 

As the riders approached the outer gates Gendry was entrusted to the watchman on duty who led him away to where he would be found shelter for the night.

Arya pressed on with her sister and the Lannister guardsmen. They climbed the cobbled roads upwards towards the doors of the castle. They could see a large golden-haired lady in red skirts waiting, and as they approached closer, she came bounding out to meet them.

“Lady Sansa! Whatever possessed you to leave the castle at this hour?  I was worried sick.  You know that these lands are rampant with robbers and rapists! Girls are going missing almost every day!” The woman halted her chastisement her eyes flickering briefly to Arya. “Who is this?”

“The sister of a blacksmith who helped me with my horse’s shoe, I invited them back with me; they needed shelter and a warm meal. I thought he could be of some use; this one can work in the kitchens.”

The woman pressed her full lips together thin in displeasure, she shook her head. “You can’t be bringing home strays, Sansa dear.  We all have this winter to survive, too many mouths to feed as it is.”

 _This plump woman is in no danger of starvation._  Arya thought wryly.

“Take this one to the kitchens, we’ll discuss this more in the morning. You’ll catch your death out here!” Sansa was helped down from her palfrey and pulled along by the Lannister woman.  She wrapped her arms around Sansa’s shoulders and continued to drivel on about how worried she had been.  Sansa looked over her shoulder briefly. Arya nodded slightly, letting her know she would be fine.

She watched Sansa traverse further down the castles corridors. The Lannister woman’s cooing and chastisements could be heard echoing down the halls; eventually her voice dissipated as they went inside.

 

The kitchens were warm, but cramped.  The floor was littered with girls and women of all ages.  The best spots near all the hearths were densely packed with their slumbering forms.  None stirred or paid her any mind as she stepped over them to get to a place she could rest. Arya found a large wooden beam to lay against, closed her eyes, and thought of what to do next.  She missed Ghost-Jon and the warmth of his white fur, she wondered if Gendry was well looked after.  She also wondered if Bran was somehow still watching over her, even now as she slept beneath the roof of one of her enemies. 

 _Is that why I am here?  To kill lions?_ The ones she had wished death upon over the course of countless nights were already bones in the grave. _I could probably kill that woman and run off with Sansa._ Her murderous musings continued as she closed her eyes.

A crow flapped down from the rafters onto the stone kitchen floor.  It nipped at a grain of barley that had fallen from the table, hopping closer and closer to her. She realized it blinked at her with three eyes. The crow squawked loudly. Arya covered her ears, but none of the other sleeping girls moved.

“Bran,” Arya whispered as she rose to follow the crow out of the kitchens.

She waded through snow, down winding garden paths, until she found herself in the middle of a stone garden, most of the forms hidden beneath a blanket of white. Central in the garden stood one lone weirwood. Its knotted trunk was stark against the blackness of the night sky.

 _Arya_ , Bran’s voice whispered to her.

“What do you want from me?” she called out to the faceless whispers coming from the tree.

_You must leave.  Tonight._

_“_ With Sansa?” she asked confused.  

_No, you must go alone, now._

“But why?  Why would I come all this way to leave her here?”

_You need to go, you need to go, you need to go…_

Her cheeks ran with tears.   _When was the last time I allowed myself to cry?_  Arya thought wiping them away with the palm of her hand.

From the sky a murder of crows descended upon her, shrill and cawing they chased her from where she stood. _You need to go, you need to go, you need to go…_ they cried.  Arya pumped her legs, dodging and ducking beneath the swooping black birds.  Her foot caught on the root of a tree and as she stumbled towards the ground she awoke with a start.  The air was cold and sharp as she sucked it into her lungs; she lay in a bank of snow confused by the silence of the night, not a crow to be seen.  She thought she had been dreaming, but somehow she had left the warmth of the kitchens, her eyes followed the trail she had carved in the white banks, in the distance she could see the snow-covered stone gardens and the single weirwood where she had stood and spoke with Bran.   

Arya looked to the high tower where she knew her sister slept; they had been together for a few short hours, perhaps not even that.  Sansa would not understand if she left tonight.  She herself didn’t understand why she was leaving.  

_And Gendry?  Should I wake him?_

A howl in the distance prickled her ears, and her eyes were drawn to the direction of the wolf’s cry. Ghost-Jon was close. Gendry would only slow her down and confuse her.  That strange sour turn in her guts made her think strangely, _now that he’s seen Sansa, he would never want to come away with me._

Arya picked herself up out of the snow and climbed the wall, not sure of where she was going next. There were no men loyal to the Starks left in the north, none she knew of anyway.  It would be best to trust in the kin she had, strange as they were.  Bran wanted her to leave, she would listen.

As Arya made for the line of trees towards where she hoped to find Ghost-Jon she allowed herself one last look at the tall spire of Casterly Rock, the one that faced north, her eyes drawn to the darkened window.“Good-bye Sansa.”

 

 

Mounted on the back of Ghost-John they kept to the woods when they could, avoiding the roads and the occasional traveler, but when they came upon the Inn of the Kneeling Man, the aroma of slow-roasted pork was too tortuous to resist. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten a good haunch of roasted pork. Taking a coin she had stolen from one of the dead men she had claimed, she set it upon the table and asked for the meat. The inn was dark and nearly empty, save for two bundled up hedge knights.

 _Perhaps I could have convinced Gendry to come with me?_  It was an annoying thought that continued to pester her. 

She had received less strange looks when she had travelled with him.  Traveling by herself brought curious and unwanted stares. It was becoming more difficult to pass for a boy and Arya knew she was changing with each passing day.  It was not safe to travel alone; the wars and the winter had been harsh; and as it dragged on the hungry common folk did dark and ugly things.  People made up stories of beasts in the caves, hungry creatures that stole young women and children in the night; drinking their blood and eating the meat from their bones, but Arya knew the real monsters were men.  

Two travelers sat and spoke quietly at a table next to hers, their hands and faces greasy with pork.  

Arya kept her head down and pulled the meat apart with her fingers; she did her best to ignore them, but the word “Dragonslayer” grabbed her attention.

“Tarth? That is a fucking long way off,” the bearded man said to his companion.

“Might be worth it.  We could be eating like this every night. I hear they feed their men well.”

“In exchange for what?”

“I hear loyalty.”

“That sounds bloody stupid.  Everyone would be setting sails to their island.  Has to be more to it than that.”

“Well it is the Kingslayer and Dragonslayer.  I imagine they’d be looking for men with some sort of skill at arms.  Fighters. I doubt you’d make it past the gates.”

“If you’re trying to convince me to go with you, Dustin, you’re doing a shit job of it.”

Dustin laughed. “Come on, why not?  No Lords are opening their gates here. I hear they even take in some women too.”

“Women?” Dustin’s friend seemed to like that notion.  “Aye, but what kind of women.  They look like her I bet.  You ever see Brienne of Tarth?  I swear her face is what killed that bloody dragon.”

Dustin chuckled a little at that. “Well, whatever gets me closer to Bravos, I’m in favour of.  I’ve had enough of your winter.”

 _Tarth?  Why not?_ Arya thought shoving another piece of the shredded meat into her mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize dear readers for the long delay, six whole days! That is a record for me.
> 
> I must thank Commasplice for helping beta this one, she left me little notes cheering me on, which meant a lot because I wasn' t feeling so sure of this one. She made me feel better about it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. I promise to do my best to get the next one up sooner.


	40. The Quiet Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion cleans up the mess he has wrought.

As promised Tyrion made arrangements for the dead, men who had fought and died on both sides of the battle.  Deaths he knew he was partly accountable for. The only relief came in knowing that the number of dead and injured could have been remarkably greater if not for his orchestrations. With or without his assistance, Stannis would have attacked the capital, the casualties would have been far numerous, and damage to the newly built city tremendous.

There were a small number of injured and dead Sapphire knights considering their opponents had been the Queen’s dragons.  Tyrion shuddered with the thought of what the damage could have been if the beasts had been allowed to escape.

 

Tyrion asked for assessments for what necessary repairs were required after the siege of the city, if all had gone according to plan the gates, walls, and dragon pits would be the only real areas that took significant damage. The sounds of fighting had significantly decreased; Tyrion took it as a promising sign that Grey Worm had surrendered to Stannis.  With Barristan dead, Grey Worm would now be Commander, although Stannis was in his rights to choose who he wanted to be amongst his white cloaks.

Stannis had failed to share prudent information regarding the Lady Brienne, a significant omission of fact that irked him immensely. Tyrion did not like the possibility that the new King could be concealing other secrets. Something he decided he would dwell on later, he had cast his lot in with Stannis for the moment, and there was no turning back now. Brienne’s return and miraculous reappearance was a curious affair, a mystery he intended to unravel, but he knew it was a topic that must be approached with great care.

 

As Tyrion entered the gates to his home he was informed that his brother and the Lady Brienne were residing within his walls.

_I suppose he very well couldn’t have taken her back to the White Sword Tower. How quickly my brother shed his vows of celibacy. The Lady Brienne is not easy to look upon, but it is clear Jaime is infatuated with her.  I wonder what charms she possesses to enrapture my brother so?_

Tyrion walked down the corridors towards the guest rooms and the sounds that greeted him were lewd and arousing.  His eyes met the two servant girls holding fresh clothing standing outside the door giggling. Noticing his presence, they immediately ceased, and looked ready to flee.  Tyrion gave them a grin to let them know he was not angered.

 _Jaime deserves his moment with his wife_.  Tyrion thought, and he had to admit his own blood was calling for the pleasure of a woman… or two. Tyrion gestured for the women to come away with him.The girls answered his beckon, leaving the clothes beside the door and followed Tyrion away to his rooms.

 

He squeezed the round ass of the flaxen haired girl as the brunette twirled his curls in her fingers.  It was good to be the Hand, and if Stannis was true to his word, Hand he would remain.  Falling into his bed with the girls cooing and lavishing him with sweet kisses, thoughts of intrigues, plots and schemes dissolved away.

The sun had not yet set when he was roused from sleep.  The servant girls had left him in a tangle of sheets.  He thought of Sansa and how he should inform her of the events of the day. Tyrion rose from his bed and poured a glass of water. 

A knock came to his door, and the lovely face of the brunette servant girl peeked in, “Ser, would you have your dinner here or do you wish to partake with your brother and his wife?”

“They are up?” Tyrion asked.

“No, they have been in their rooms all day, but it is quiet now.” The girl smiled slyly.

Tyrion smiled in return, his heart light in the knowledge he was genuinely happy for his brother.  There had been a dark time when the thought of Jaime’s happiness would have made him a bitter man.

“I have a letter to compose, and then I think I would very much like to dine with my guests. “

“Yes milord.” The girl left to deliver his orders to the kitchens.

Twirling the light quill in his fingers Tyrion wondered where to start.  There was so much news to share, but as always there was the delicate balance of sharing just enough. The children seemed suitable place to start.

 

_Sansa,_

_I am remiss to inform you that Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, first of her name, Stormborn, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and Protector of the Realm, has perished in the Battle of Kings Landing this day. King Stannis Baratheon now holds the Kingdom.  There were remarkably small losses in life and infrastructure, with two significant deaths of note, the Queen’s dragon Viserion, and her Lord Commander of the Queensguard Ser Barristan Selmy._

_Another significant event I feel I must share is the survival of The Lady Brienne. She did not perish at sea as previously suspected. I trust you will exercise delicacy when sharing this news with her children.  Please make arrangements to have the children returned to us as soon as possible, I would advise a heavy retinue of guards to ensure a safe journey._

_\- Tyrion_

 

Folding his letter he picked up the red candle and poured the wax carefully, pressing it with the gold seal that had belonged to Tywin Lannister.  One of the few remaining items he had of his fathers. He admired the mark of the seal pressed into the soft wax, the lion sigil of his house next to a grand and ornately designed ‘T’.   

“I’ve won. What do you think of that?”  Tyrion smiled as he set the seal down on his desk. “Twice now.  I’ve won. Not bad for a dwarf.” 

 

A lovely feast of pheasant stewed in honeyed plums and nutmeg was set before them, complimented nicely with golden russet potatoes and fresh sprigs of asparagus.  The Lady Brienne accepted the arbor gold poured for her, as did Jaime.  Tyrion tried his best to enjoy his cool water, flavoured with orange, the servants never bothered any more to ask him if he would prefer the wine. With Daenerys dead the thought of turning to the forbidden drink had its appeal.

 _Brienne the Beauty, Dragonslayer, Lady Knight, and Bane of the Targaryen Queen, she was collecting names for herself this one._   Tyrion thought as he surveyed his dinner guests sitting across the table. Jaime could scarcely keep his eyes off his wife as she sat silently chewing her food.

 _It is good to see him smile again._ Tyrion thought.

“I imagine you must be ravenous, with the exertion of the day.” Tyrion smiled as his implication had the desired effect, watching a slight blush creep up the Lady Brienne’s neck. “What, with the battle and all.” Tyrion added.

Jaime chuckled, knowing full well he did not mean the fighting.

“I’ve sent word to Sansa to have your children brought back here immediately.  You of course are welcomed to stay until they arrive.”

Tyrion was dazzled by her blue watery eyes. Jaime clasped his hand upon his wife’s, a gesture of comfort.

“Thank-you, Tyrion.” Brienne said gratefully.

“It will be weeks until they arrive I suspect, but I assure you they have been well taken care of.”

“I am in your debt,” Brienne smiled genuinely.

The expression of gratitude on her face made him shift uncomfortably. “No, you do not, they are my family.  I could do no less.” Wishing to change the course of conversation Tyrion asked, “May I ask how you’ve come to be at this table with us? It has to be a fascinating story.”

As Brienne shared her story of ship wrecks, auction blocks, slavery, and starvation in the Dothraki Sea Tyrion severely wished he had not perused the conversation. He couldn’t discern which was worse, listening to her words or watching his brothers pained and angered expressions as his wife shared the details of her harrowing journey. 

He vowed to have that idiot man of his in Mereen killed for failing to purchase her as planned.

“So who helped you escape this ‘Moustached Man’ was it?    What brave soul are we rewarding?  I wish to honour him personally, an obscene amount your husband has promised.”

“She remains at Tarth. We will settle our own debts.  Thank-you.” Brienne finished her last bite from her plate.  Her words were curt and Jaime now seemed to be the one shifting in his chair.

“A woman?” Tyrion asked surprised.

“She was a woman of pleasure from the east, very brave, and a true friend,” Brienne defended, but would share no further.

Jaime had an expression on his face that belied there was more to the story his wife was sharing.

 _Now this is indeed curious._ Tyrion thought, but left it alone; there would be time to prod further.

“Pardons My Lord,” a servant interrupted their meal.  “A summons has arrived from the new King, for all of you.” She looked to the trio briefly before setting her eyes to the floor.

“Well, we mustn’t keep the new King waiting. Shall we?” Tyrion said as he set his fork down and wiped his mouth.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm traveling again. Will do my best to find time to write. This is a quiet chapter. I can't be killing dragons every time, there is only one left after all.


	41. A Bitter Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa feels for the loss of her sister, and finds comfort with Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been some confusion on the timelines.  
> All events in this story take place after Brienne kills Drogon, but before the birth of the children.  
> A good rule of thumb if there is snow its way in the past, if there isn't we're in 'our present'.
> 
> I hope this helps.

Sansa held the tiny glass bottle in her hand.  A few quick sips and it would be done.  The product of her secret would be dead inside her, all with just a swallow of the bitter liquid.

She pressed her hand tenderly against her slightly swelled stomach, still easily hidden beneath her thick winter skirts.

All her plans and likely her very life would be undone if she didn't drink. She had spent so long being genteel, always hiding behind her mask.   She did her best to smile, to be pleasant, to never say an unkind word towards her husband or his family, despite the cold anger she carried in her heart.  She knew Tyrion had her carefully watched while he was away.  The servants were all his; his insufferably over-bearing Aunt constantly hovered about her.   Sansa had wondered if Genna was the reason Arya had fled from Casterly Rock. The thought that somehow Genna might be behind Arya’s disappearance made her want to grab for her books, mortar and pestle.

The memory of learning of Arya’s disappearance left a dull ache in her throat, and threatened to bring tears to her eyes.   It had taken all her resolve to wear her mask that day.  It would have been ridiculous for her, the Lady of Casterly Rock to be upset over the disappearance of a common kitchen girl, one she had only known for a single night. 

They had settled into one of the smaller dining halls, early in the morning, as usual she had taken her seat across from Aunt Genna. Sansa placed a napkin upon her lap as they were served the morning meal to break their fast.  She had asked casually of the servant placing the sectioned grapefruit dipped in honey in front of her, “How is the new girl performing?”

“What new girl, my lady?”

“The new girl I sent down to the kitchens last night.  Her hair is dark; she’s perhaps three-and-ten.”

The servant looked at her mystified.

“She has a long face, dark features.” Sansa set her spoon down and looked the girl level in the eyes.

“Pardon, my lady, but there is no new girl.”

“Well, there was!” Aunt Genna offered. “She’s probably run off; don’t get yourself in a fret over it Sansa dear.  Let us hope she’s disappeared.  One less mouth! It was foolish of you to bring her here.”

 When Gennafinished her meal Sansa was grateful, she was desperate to search for her sister. Genna would be in the study composing letters all morning.  Tyrion had instructed the care of Casterly Rock to Sansa, but he had asked Genna to keep her company.  Since her arrival the woman had slowly taken more and more of the tedious practical functioning’s of Casterly rock upon herself.   Duties that Sansa was happy in the beginning to let her have, but with each passing day, and with each new task Genna took upon herself, Sansa realized she was quickly becoming tired of the woman. 

“Don’t strain yourself Aunt Genna.” Sansa smiled. “You know the headaches you get.”

“You are a sweetling, Sansa.  I will only work until luncheon; I thought perhaps it would be nice to have a bit of smoked ham and apple.”Genna rose from the table.

 _The crumbs from this meal are just falling from her skirts and yet she’s thinking of the next,_ Sansa thought dully.

Genna left the dining hall, humming as she went. 

“Get my warm cloak and boots,” Sansa ordered the girl clearing the table.

“Yes my lady,” The girl continued to lift dishes from the table.

“Now,” Sansa ordered. Her tone had the desired effect; the girl frowned slightly and hurried from the room.

She made her way below to the kitchens first. The winter’s cold could not penetrate the Rock’s kitchen, and all the ovens were at a full blaze, the heat making Sansa sweat beneath her woolen cloak.  The women and girls were bustling about, getting meals ready to send down to the men who worked in the inner keeps of the castle. Several bubbling pots of barley porridge were ready to be taken away.

Sansa glanced about the large room. it was as she feared, Arya was nowhere to be found.

“Lady Sansa!” A girl gasped clutching a ladle to her chest.

The flurry of the kitchens ceased as the women shut their lips and cast their eyes down to the floor.

Pausing only for a moment, Sansa spoke, “I wish to help feed the men this morning.” She was anxious to see if the young man who had come with her sister was still here, and if so, if he knew of Arya’s whereabouts.

The long line of hard-working boys and men stood with wooden bowls and tin cups; they must have been warned of her presence as the yard seemed unreasonably quiet.  Only small utters of “thank you, milady” interrupted the thick silence.  Sansa pulled the ladle up from her pot and poured her last helping to a small boy, a sorry looking lad with the marks of a pox. He didn’t smile or look up at her and his voice was barely audible as he whispered, “thank you, milady.”

At Winterfell there has always been a respectable but friendly division between the servants and the Starks, but the invisible line between her and the servants of Casterly Rock seemed to be a chasm of fear.  She was scarcely a woman, but they seemed genuinely terrified of her.  She was disappointed that there was no sign of Gendry anywhere. 

Sansa frowned realizing she would have to relinquish her true intentions in helping to feed the men their breakfast this day.  She approached the castellan who was dipping his biscuit into his bowl, bringing his sopping bread to his whiskered lips as he took a hearty bite. 

“Hello, I was hoping you could tell me what became of the young man who was delivered here last night? A blacksmith… Lommy, I believe.”

The castellan choked a bit as he recognized who was doing the asking.  _Have I really been that much of a recluse?_ Sansa thought sadly.

“Aye, my lady, he is chopping wood by the stables.  I’ll grab him if you’d like.  Did he do anything?”The man looked as though he would throttle Gendry if she willed it. 

Sansa shook her head; she was relieved to learn Gendry remained. “No, his sister has disappeared from the kitchens and I was hoping he would know why. I will speak to him directly.” Without giving the man a moment to protest Sansa made her way to the stables, only allowing the faintest hope that she would find Arya with him.

Sansa came upon Gendry, performing the very task he was doing when she first laid eyes upon him, his powerful arms raised the large axe, and a sharp crack echoed into the air as he split the log.

“Where is she? Your sister?” Sansa asked, hoping he would have enough sense to play along with their ruse from the previous evening. She was dismayed with the slight hint of distress she allowed to flavor her words.

Gendry turned to face her, resting the head of the axe on the ground, his large hands nervously cradling the wooden shaft. “Good morning, my lady.  Um, my sister? Is she missing?” The look in Gendry’s eyes told her he was confused and worried. 

 _He cares for her._ Sansa was won over by the clear concern Gendry had painted across his face.  He looked ready to flee in that moment to search for Arya.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Sansa’s voice broke.  Why was she letting this boy see her weak?

“I will go in search for her.  I will go right now,” Gendry offered, setting his axe down.

“I think you and I both know that would be fruitless.” 

He seemed to realize the truth in her words, but he was a young man, and they tended to have a harder time being resigned in doing nothing when a problem was set before them. “If you would give me a horse, I can go this day and search for her.”

Sansa found his eagerness to help admirable. There had been several reports of young girls disappearing, and although she knew her sister was no ordinary girl, her heart was heavy with worry and she found herself saying, “Go, find her. Take that one.” Sansa pointed to her own palfrey drinking outside the stables.

Gendry rushed to saddle her horse, and climbed atop.

“Three days.  Search for three days, and if you have no trail of her, please come back _.” What an odd thing to say,_ Sansa thought as the words spilled from her lips, it had almost sounded like a plea.

 

Gendry nodded, “I will.”

What a strange sight they must have made as she led Gendry back towards the castellan.  The Lady of Casterly Rock leading a common blacksmith’s apprentice on her own horse.  “His sister is missing; I am giving him three days time to search for the girl.  See he has no trouble at the gates.” She then turned to Gendry. “Do not attempt to steal this horse, boy, or I will have my guards hunt you down. Understood?”

Gendry replied, “Yes, milady.”

 

On the setting of the third sun Gendry returned as promised, and as she feared, he returned alone. His handsome face sad and defeated.

After the evening of his return Sansa took to helping feeding the men every morning. She reasoned it was good for the small folk to see her as a caring and kind lady.  Gendry always waited in her serving line, no matter how long it grew.  One morning as she passed his bowl back to him their fingers brushed, bringing a blush to both their cheeks.

As the weeks wore on she would find more excuses to visit the stables and the smithy.  It pleased her to see how nervous her presence made Gendry as he would fumble and drop his tools, almost predictably so whenever she visited.

“How is he getting on?” Sansa asked the old smith.

“He’s clumsy, but good milady. Well trained.”

“That is good to hear. May I borrow him? My horse has thrown his shoe again.”

“Lommy!” The man called to Gendry. “Help her ladyship repair her horse’s shoe.  Be quick about it!”

Gendry gathered his tools and followed Sansa to the stables.

Her horse was housed in a corner stable, and well secluded and away from the eyes of others. Hers was the only horse that remained, all the others having been taken out for a hunt. She playfully smiled as he inspected all four of her horse’s shoes finally saying, “These shoes are fine, Lady Sansa, none are in need of repair.”

Her heart was beating quickly as she stepped closer to him in the guise of inspecting the horse herself. “Oh?” she queried, as her shoulder brushed against his arm.

There was only a flicker of protest as he stepped slightly away from her, only a moment of learned distance that he knew he must keep, and suddenly and yet with a surprising gentleness his strong calloused hands reached for her face. He ran a large finger down the curve of her cheek, settling it upon her chin, he drew her in, moving his face towards hers.  He pressed a warm tender kiss against her lips and she closed her eyes.  All her previous and unwanted kisses gone and forgotten in that moment; this was nothing like Littlefinger’s slimy gropings, or her clumsy attempts with Tyrion. 

 _This is what a kiss is supposed to be_ , Sansa thought happily.

Her morning rides became routine after that.  She would serve breakfast to the men and make her way to the stables.  Gendry would sometimes be there waiting for her, or he would follow shortly after, and in time what began as simple kisses became more.

 

Sansa steeled herself and thrust the bottle to her lips; she drank until each drop was swallowed. She waited numbly for a moment and as the horror of what she had done settled upon her she whispered, “No.”

Forcing her fingers down her throat she gagged and sputtered as the concoction came out in a violent fit of vomiting.  The bitter and rancid potion felt thick upon her tongue.

She slid down to the floor, sitting in the puddle of her own sick. Harsh tears and racking sobs burst from her as she cried over what she had almost done. Holding her stomach protectively, she felt lost and uncertain of her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost wish I could go back and shuffle some of these secondary character chapters into the middle somewhere. I blame myself for giving in to all of you wanting Jaime or Brienne chapters. :P
> 
> Thank-you to Comma for her insights once again. I love my beta-reader!


	42. The Mother's Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plot is hatched at the Rock.

Aunt Genna’s letters would not waver in the insistence that he return to the Rock.  After several refusals to return, she finally gave reason for her pleadings.

_Tyrion,_

_Your wife is with child_.

 

The shock and hurt he felt, yes, he could say _hurt_ over Sansa’s betrayal, surprised him. He knew that his young and beautiful wife cared little for him.  He would have been a fool to think otherwise, and yet he realized as he read his aunt’s words again, that there was misery in his heart over the revelation that Sansa had been unfaithful.

_Have I not been kind to her?_

He thought back to all those nights he had gently pushed her away when it was painfully clear the last thing she wanted was to be in his bed.  They had settled into an easy camaraderie whenever he visited the Rock; he knew he amused her with his stories, the intrigues at court, and on occasion he had even managed to make her laugh. It was the smallest indication that things could be better. Each visit was an improvement on the last. Sansa was intelligent and he always found it refreshing to converse with her. He suspected she understood more than she let on.  Their interactions lead him to believe that in time they might make the best of their situation.

 _Perhaps she could have learned to love me?_ Tyrion snorted at his idiocy. 

He managed to return to the Rock before the birth of the child, just in time to celebrate his own name day at the Rock.The first night he came into her rooms she was seated at awindow.  The moon was full and she was draped in its silvery light, so pale and beautiful. Sansa was blessed with all of the mother’s gifts.  Her skin was luminous, as was her thick red hair cascaded freely over her shoulders. 

Her eyes widened as she turned to glance his way.  Her hands clutched the fabrics stretched across her stomach. 

Aunt Genna had the good sense to keep Sansa tucked away in her rooms.  The ruse she used was that his wife was too sick to leave her quarters.  A squalling babe would be more difficult to hide.

“I’ll leave you two be.  I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” Genna patted Tyrion upon the shoulder and left the room.

 

He turned to consider Sansa for a moment. Tyrion had a chilling thought of what his father would have done. Tywin Lannister would not have suffered the embarrassment of having his wife carrying another man’s child.  Tywin Lannister would have flung the newborn straight into the ocean. 

“Sansa,” Tyrion broke the silence between them.

“Tyrion,” she replied. There was a fierceness in her eyes; she could give hard looks when she wanted.

“This is quite a dilemma,” Tyrion started.

“What do you plan to do?”

“What do you think I should do?”

She remained silent, lowered her head, and hugged her swollen belly.

“Rest easy,Sansa,I will not harm you,” Tyrion whispered.

Sansa looked to him, large beautiful eyes softened by her tears. “I am sorry, truly.”

“Who is the father?” Tyrion asked.  He could not harm her, but whoever did this to her was another matter.

Sansa’s expression hardened slightly.

 _She cares for him…_ he thought as a pit of sorrow and anger grew in his stomach.

Aunt Genna knocked on the door, and promptly entered without waiting for an invitation. “Tyrion, you should let her rest.  She’s near the end now, and in a very fragile state.”

Tyrion wanted to know who impregnated his wife, but one look at his aunt hinted he should do as she requested. 

Tyrion nodded reluctantly, “ Very well. Good night.” 

They left Sansa alone in her chambers and traversed down the long corridors towards the dining hall where his name day festivities were under way. 

Genna placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder.  “I think you need to see this boy.”

“Should I bring my men along?” He could end this tonight.

Genna shook her head. “You need to see him first, nephew.”

 

His Aunt Genna had ordered the kitchens to prepare a sumptuous feast in his honour, complete with singers, musicians and jugglers; the woman had the good sense not to hire any dwarves.   A large portion of the servants were gathered in the great hall to celebrate in his honour.  He knew they cared little for him, but they were happy to be taken away from the drudgery of their work if only for a few hours, to fill themselves with food, and get drunk on ale. Tyrion took his place at the head of the table; his aunt settled in beside him.  It did not take long for Tyrion’s eyes to settle upon the young man in question.

“By the gods,” Tyrion exclaimed as he watched the mirror image of King Robert in his youth drink from a tankard. “This is him, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Genna confirmed.

“It is not a coincidence you have placed him so close.”

“It is not.” Genna plopped a candied plum into her mouth.

“How in the gods’names did he come to be here?” Tyrion asked in astonishment.

“Sansa found him in the village, with a girl, his sister he claimed.  He helped Sansa and she brought them back to the castle. The girl has since disappeared, but he remained.”

“How could you have let this happen?”  Tyrion turned to his aunt.

Genna bristled and retorted. “Perhaps if a certain husband didn’t spend so much time in King’s Landing this all could have been avoided.” She pointed her fork at him, “… and it would be your baby in her belly, and not a Baratheon’s!”

“Waters, Flowers, or Stone” Tyrion said chastised. “He would _not_ be a Baratheon.”

“If _he_ is a bastard.”Genna turned her gaze briefly to the large sulking boy.

“Of course he is. Cersei never carried any of Robert’s children. The one she did manage to birth died the day he was born.”

“But what if she did carry another?” Genna arched an eyebrow. “I recall Cersei visiting one spring, perhaps a year before the birth of Joffrey.  She grew large, and it became clear why she wished to escape King’s Landing.  Her venom towards King Robert was strong, she begged me to see to the child, to kill him. I just didn’t have the heart, so I gave him to Pycelle.  The old fart is dead now; he can’t protest otherwise.”

“Your story is complete fabrication.  No one will believe it,” Tyrion countered.

“Is it really so hard to believe that a highborn woman could have a child in secret?” She grinned at him knowingly, then added, “It happens more than you think Tyrion. One look at that boy and no one can deny that it is Robert’s.  Who is going to deny my story?”

Tyrion could think of a few names, but did not offer them. “What possible gain comes from this ruse?”

“Is it true the Queen is going insane?  I’ve been hearing rumours.”

It was worrisome that the rumours of Daenerys’ decline had reached Casterly Rock.

“The Queen has not been herself since the death of her dragon,” Tyrion allowed.

“What will the realm do when she goes the way of Mad King Aerys? She has no heirs, oh I can just imagine the calamity the end of her reign will bring!”Genna sighed with false worry.

It was becoming abundantly clear what his aunt was alluding they do, but it was a dangerous scheme.  One that could get them killed thrice over.  Tyrion rubbed his temple and wished for a drink.

“Shall I call for your men?” Genna asked.

“No,” Tyrion replied curtly. He looked again at the dark-haired bastard sitting in the company of his servants.  He was huge, muscular, and despite his somber expression, he was clearly handsome.  All the things Tyrion knew he was not. As much as he wanted to kill him, Tyrion knew he was a prize far too valuable to toss aside, valuable and dangerous. “I need to think.” Tyrion’s mind whirled with the possibilities, having one of Robert’s bastards.

_Daenerys is contained for the time being, but if Genna has the right of it? The risk that Daenerys could slip further was a very real possibility, and then what?  The realm would need a new ruler.  A trueborn son of Robert Baratheon would make for a strong claim should that day come._

“Excuse me m’lady.  How is the lady Sansa?” A small pock-marked lad asked as he approached the head table.

“She’s doing better every day.” Genna smiled politely.

The boy scratched at his nose, nodded, and returned back toward where the other servants feasted.

“That happens almost daily.  Some servant ambles up to me requesting the health of Sansa. They always go to him. See?” Genna’s eyes narrowed.

Tyrion watched as another small boy walked up to Robert’s bastard. The bastard handed a morsel of bread to the boy as he delivered the message of Sansa’s health. Tyrion’s expression remained unchanged as he continued to drink his ale.

“Does he know?” Tyrion asked.

“I don’t see how he could.  I’ve kept Sansa locked away for her own sake, she did not protest.  I’ve cleared that tower of all servants.  I’ve invented a sickness. No one dares go near her rooms.”

Tyrion was in that moment immensely glad for his aunt’s presence. “How long do we have until she gives birth?”

“Only the Mother knows that dear.”

“A guess.”

“A week, maybe two.”

“Not long enough.”

Wishing again for a drink he uttered, “Get me a septon, a _faithful_ one. I’m going to see Sansa. Meet me there.” Tyrion rose from his chair, “and bring him.” Tyrion gestured towards the bastard.

Cursing each arduous step he took, Tyrion made the long climb back towards Sansa’s chambers. He stood outside her door a moment to catch his breath, and allow himself to think on what he was about to do. He knew that once he knocked, a new game would be set in motion.

Tyrion knocked.

“Who’s there?”

“It is Tyrion, may I enter?”

Sansa opened the door, and stepped aside allowing him to enter her room. “You startled me. Aunt Genna never knocks. Is the feast over?”

“I’ve seen your boy,” Tyrion said.  He knew he didn’t have much time alone with her and wanted to speak before Genna arrived.

“Oh?” Sansa said with a glimmer of protectiveness in her large eyes.

“He is King Robert’s son.”

A sputtering laugh escaped her lips. “No, he is not.  He is a black smith’s apprentice from King’s Landing.”

“You will marry him.  Tonight.” Tyrion was amused by the shocked expression to cross her face.

“You can’t be serious,” she managed to stutter.

“Anyone who knew Robert would not deny this is his son.  I believe he may be a trueborn.  Genna has confirmed it is possible.  Cersei gave birth to a son, but she had him hidden away.  I believe this is that son.”

“This is a trick. We are married.” Sansa said.

“Not in the ways that truly matter.”

“You are trying to trap me somehow.”

“In a way, perhaps I am.  Take a moment to consider what I am allowing this day, Sansa.  No one would blame me for killing you, killing him, or killing this baby you now carry.  In the eyes of the gods I would be justified.” He held out a hand to calm her as she backed away from him. “I will not do these things, because believe it or not, I do care for you. I do not enjoy seeing you in misery, it is abundantly clear you care for this boy.” Sansa’s skeptical expression did not leave her, and Tyrion pressed on, “I want to heal the enmity between our houses.  Don’t you see? You carry inside you a little prince or princess? A child that is part Stark, part Baratheon, and part Lannister? All I ask is that you remember my kindness this day.”

Aunt Genna came into the room; followed closely behind her was the requested septon, and Robert’s brooding bastard. The boy’s eyes grew wide as he viewed Sansa’s pregnant form. His surprised expression confirmed that Genna had done well in hiding Sansa’s condition.

“Shall we get things started? Sansa have we ever…” Tyrion cleared his throat and thought of the most proper way to ask his question, “consummated our union?”

“We have not,” Sansa said, her eyes holding fast to the bastard’s.

“Good septon, tell me.  Am I within my rights to disavow my wife for failing to perform the duties expected of her?”

“You are my lord.”

“Well, I do.”

The room went silent.

It was the septon that finally cleared his throat. “It is within my powers, through the evocation of the gods...”

“Yes, yes.  We know.  Are we no longer united as man and wife?” Tyrion cut the septon off.

“No, you are no longer husband and wife.”

“Good. Now marry them.” Tyrion pulled his aunt away from the room, as the septon began his tedious recitation of the marriage vows.

When they cleared the door he asked his aunt, “How much did you offer that septon?”

“You don’t want to know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it is, but the closer I get to the end the slower I seem to be writing. Maybe I don't want it to be over?
> 
> Thank-you Commasplice for being my beta, bang-up job as usual!


	43. The One True King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Tyrion are summoned to the Great Hall of the Red Keep by King Stannis.

_I imagine we must make for quite the vision_ , Tyrion thought as he walked hurriedly beside his brother, the Lady Brienne strode beside Jaime.  The couple looked war torn and weary, and yet there was a steeled expression set in both their eyes. _They look as though they are preparing for another battle_. 

As they progressed further through the hall, the crowd thickened with people. Most turned and parted the way upon recognizing them.

 _The Dragon Slayer, the Kingslayer, and the Imp. Yes, a curious trio we make, but these walls have seen far greater oddities to be sure…_ _Granted seeing Stannis perched on the iron throne is a strange sight indeed.  
_

As strange a sight as it made, Stannis sat upon the Iron Throne well; it looked as though the metal monstrous chair had been forged for him.  He was surrounded by knights, generals and guards.  Of the White Cloaks Tyrion could only spy Balon Swann.  He supposed Loras Tyrell had either fled or been killed; the burnt flower would not have suffered to see Stannis as King, let alone serve the man. It was within reason to believe that Aggo the sole Dothraki warrior who had returned with Daenerys from Essos was also dead, if not in battle, then by his own arakh.  Grey Worm had delivered his message of surrender to Stannis, but he was absent from these proceedings.

 _Word is he has been standing over the body of his deceased Queen,_ Tyrion thought sadly.

The air was thick within the holds of the Great Hall of the Red Keep.  The atmosphere generated by the assemblage of knights, warriors, lords, and common sellswords was a somber one.  This was not the usual collection of victorious conquerors one would expect; there were no songs or celebrations, only duty.  Stannis began his work immediately and dealt out his judgments with clarity and precision.

One by one, lords that had been loyal to Daenerys stepped forth as they were called. A robust man Tyrion did not recognize stood to the right at the base of the Iron Throne, beckoning each in turn.

“Lord Jon Kellington,” the large man bellowed.

Lord Jon Kellington stepped forward, a slim nervous man.  He was from a minor house, but it had been one of those that had supported Renly, and then the Tyrells during the War of the Five Kings. Stannis had lords and generals to reward, and Tyrion had a feeling the fortunes of House Kellington were about to take a dire turn.

Those who occupied the castles and lands desired by Stannis’ loyal supporters were stripped. Like some of the lords before him, Kellington begged for pardons.  He was given a small consolation, a small bit of his own land, a place to build a small hovel, grow old and die upon. The bitterness of those fallen lords would be great, and would only grow with time. To be made to live within sight of your former castle, to watch another man enter your gates everyday, where within those walls, he ate at your table and fucked upon your sheets. It was the way of war, and with no one to oppose Stannis’ rule, bitter resignation was the only recourse.

 _Unless someone with a stronger claim was to emerge,_ Tyrion thought as he waited for his name to be called.  

“Ser Jaime Lannister of the former Queensguard.” Jaime was summoned forward by the robust man.

Jaime did not look the part of a White Cloak.  His armour had been far too badly damaged during the fight with the dragon.  Instead he wore the simple clothes his servants had procured for him. His face was cut and bruised, but despite his simple dress he walked with the confidence of a Lannister. The other lords in their finery paled next to Jaime.  Where the gods had denied Tyrion height and beauty his brother had been granted it threefold.

“Jaime Lannister.” Stannis looked down from his throne. “How you came to _quit_ a position meant to be retained for life is beyond me.  Daenerys reinstating you to this post was yet one of the many signs of her madness. I will not suffer a knight to be on my guard who slew a king that he was sworn to protect.”

Tyrion watched Jaime and held his breath with the pleading thoughts of, _be still and hold your tongue._

If Jaime was upset by Stannis’ words, he hid it well. The Lady Brienne had assured him that she had Stannis’ word that in return for her and her knights’ services he would be dismissed from the Guard.

“The killing of Areys Targaryen however noble the reason was against the vows you made.” Jaime looked to Brienne briefly with questioning eyes, an expression that seemed to ask, ‘what have you told him?

“I will not have a precedence set where vows of this solemnity can so easily be shorn aside. This business with your training of your ‘Sapphire Knights’ ends.”

“Those knights won you your throne,” Jaime spoke.  Tyrion could hear his brother’s anger threatening to build.  

Brienne reached out her hand from behind him, gently placing it upon his arm. Jaime tilted his head slightly in her direction.

“If I had it my way I would uphold Daenerys’ ruling that you be stripped of your wife and children, but I owe a debt to the Lady Brienne, and that would adversely affect her. Why should she be punished for your misdeeds?”

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Stannis, but did not protest further.  Tyrion sighed with relief.

“Brienne Lannister of Tarth.” The man at the base of the throne called Lady Brienne forward. Unlike Jaime, Brienne looked every part of the war-worn knight.  She had dressed herself in the chest plate and pauldrons of her armour, scuffed, bloodied and singed from the battle. Her red cloak lay tattered against her back.

 _I wonder if she intended to dress herself this way, marks of the battle for all to see…_ Tyrion thought it was a wise move regardless. Tyrion’s musings were interrupted by Stannis’ firm voice.

“You have been true to your word in all respects.  I admire this, especially when it seems honour and vows appear to be no more than fleeting and windblown words amongst most men.” Stannis delivered a measured glance back to Jaime, “You have been loyal and shall be rewarded. Tell me what it is you desire.”

It was astonishing to see the giantess warrior woman tremble at having to speak in front of the crowd.  Jaime looked at her protectively as her eyes darted warily to the floor and back to Stannis.

“I desire my children returned to Tarth to reside with myself and my husband, _Ser Jaime,”_ the emphasis on her husband’s title a direct defiance to Stannis’ chastisement did not go unnoticed. The frown deepened upon Stannis’ lips showing his visible irritation.Stannis stood up from his throne, and climbed down the long twisted metal stairs with much less grace than Daenerys had. A low humming of voices erupted in the room. Everyone was curious as to what Stannis’ motives were.  

Jaime and Brienne looked to each other.

“Brienne of Tarth, they say you killed Renly Baratheon, my brother.” Stannis looked at her directly in the eye, only being able to do so as he stood on one of the stone steps, bringing himself to her height.  Brienne looked like she was ready to throttle the new king.  Tyrion could see red creeping up her shoulders and neck.

“We both know…” Brienne started to address the accusation, but was quickly cut short by Stannis.

“He was my brother, whom I loved, but he was also usurper. His death was brought upon him by his own foolishness. Brienne of Tarth kneel before me.”

Brienne stood defiantly before her new King.  Tyrion now found himself silently pleading for her to ‘ _be still’, ‘kneel’, ‘do as he asks’_.  Jaime’s hand rested on the pummel of his sword, ready to support his wife, whatever she decided to do.  Either of them could draw their swords and take Stannis’ head, none of his guards would be able to make it in time to stop them.   _If it comes to that, we will all be dead.  Damn it woman just kneel!_ Tyrion screamed internally.

Stannis delivered a slight glare.  It was obvious his patience was wearing thin.

Tyrion said a silent prayer of ‘ _thank-you’_ as finally the stubborn woman bent the knee. Her fists were curled so tight her knuckles were as white as new snow.  The red of her freckled face had deepened, and her breathing was heavy.  If Stannis and she had been alone Tyrion had no doubt that she might have had the notion to strangle his neck with those large hands. 

Stannis held his right hand out, “bring me my sword”

Brienne looked up at Stannis confused, Jaime stepped forward, more than a dozen swords were unsheathed and pointed at him in response.  


“Be still Lannister.” Stannis barked.  “I’m not going to harm your wife. Brienne of Tarth I intend to anoint you a knight of the realm.” A fervent murmur worked its way throughout the crowd; some men were heard to groan and protest.  

 _Brave souls hidden away in the shadowed crowd._ Tyrion thought caustically.

“Silence!” Stannis shouted in a booming voice, then turned his gaze back to where Brienne knelt before him, “You shown yourself to hold all the characteristics of a true knight, including a demonstration of bravery and prowess during the battle for Kings Landing at the Dragon Gate. Your deeds may very well have saved this city.”

Brienne knelt unflinchingly, her face was no longer red, her flesh had grown quite pale. Tyrion tried to think if ever there had been a woman knighted in the realm; he knew his histories well, and could think of none.  

Stannis’ blade landed upon her left shoulder, then to her right, “Brienne of Tarth, you are hereby anointed a knight of the realm. Under the guidance and watchful eye of Rh’llor, Lord of Light, you shall forever serve as protector of the innocent and defender of the weak. Go forward bravely, for the night is dark and full of terrors.”

A hushed and confused response bubbled from the lips of many in attendance. Tyrion looked about him; there was a mixed reaction to what they had just witnessed.  Most stood unsmiling; some nodded solemnly; a few carried a poorly hidden look of disgust. Whether it be over the knighting ceremony Stannis had just performed, or the fact that it was upon a woman he had knighted, was uncertain. Tyrion guessed it was most likely both.

Stannis handed the sword back to the red priest that had brought it to him.  “Rise Brienne of Tarth, Knight of Rh’llor.”  Brienne stood as commanded; looking bewildered with what had just occurred. “You and Ser Jaime are to visit the red priestess Melisandre at her temple. Directly.”

Stannis turned his back to his subjects and returned to his iron throne. Once seated the robust man called out, “Tyrion Lannister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up if you think Stannis is going to be King for long?
> 
> Commasplice put your hand down! And thanks for being my beta :P


	44. The Fires Shall Spread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne witness the rise of R'hllor Lord of Light.

Tyrion stepped a few paces forward.   Jaime watched with apprehension, curious to see what fate was to befall his brother.   His muscles felt as tight as a bow string, having not yet recovered from the anxiety of watching Brienne being knighted by Stannis. The vows had been strange, steeped in the rhetoric of this foreign religion Stannis had brought with him.

The decree that they could no longer train their Sapphire Knights infuriated him. Stannis had eliminated a perceived threat by disallowing their training of men and women at arms.  There were thousands yet Jaime knew those that remained would heed their call.  A fact he felt no desire to share with Stannis or anyone else.

He had calmed once he realized Stannis meant Brienne no harm. Jaime could recognize that the new king’s actions were not entirely noble.  Truth be told, Stannis was doing his wife no favour in knighting her before the court.  With his acknowledgement of her deeds, the king only furthered implicating Brienne in the killing of Renly Baratheon, a death that occurred so many years ago, and had haunted her since the day it happen.  Stannis’ knighting of Brienne made it seem as though she had been his creature all along.  No one would believe her protests to the contrary, not that many ever did.

Jaime looked to his wife; her face was blank, lips pressed tight, but her eyes screamed fury.  The last time he had ever seen her that angry had been at their home on Tarth.  One of their men had gone too far with a woman.  Brienne had dealt with him mercilessly.  Since that day he had not heard of a woman being harmed in such a manner at Evenfall Hall.

The fear that encapsulated his heart had loosened once Brienne rose and stepped away.  Stannis dismissed them with orders to see the red priestess Melisandre, but Jaime refused to move until he knew what the new king’s plans were with his brother.

Tyrion had been wise to surrender the city early; the loss of life and damage was minimal.   _Surely Stannis will acknowledge that_ , Jaime thought.

“Tyrion Lannister, your post as Hand ends this evening. Return to your Rock, I order you to remain there until your dying day.” Stannis words were delivered curtly.

Tyrion turned, his mismatched eyes were dark and chilling.  There was something of Cersei in Tyrion’s expression, _oh how she would have hated that thought…_

Memories of Cersei were pale shadows.  He rarely thought of her, but found the more he stayed within the walls of King’s Landing, the more his thoughts drifted to his long dead twin, and the man he had been when they were lovers. _Before Brienne,  and before our children…_

 _My children.  I have Brienne, and soon they’ll be returned to me. I will be whole again.  We can return home to Tarth and be happy again.  Fuck Stannis and fuck King’s Landing._  Reaching with his hand for Brienne’s arm, he pulled her along with him, following Tyrion out of the Great Hall.  Every gaze and whisper seemed to be directed at them, no at her… his wife.  Her name was as infamous as his own.  Jaime wrapped his arm about her waist protectively and thought, _don’t you dare look down Brienne.  Do not be cowed by these sheep._ He felt a measure of pride in his wife, Her chin was raised high, and she walked with her eyes directed forward as they approached the great doors.  

A priest in red robes met them.“Come with me.  I will take you to our High Priestess.

“Wait,” Jaime halted their walk. “Where is Tyrion?”  He had been watching Brienne, and lost Tyrion amongst the people.

“He most likely returned home for the evening.  I’m sure he has many arrangements to make,” Brienne offered.

“Most like.”  Jaime hesitantly agreed remembering that look in his brothers eyes. “Let us be done with this,” Jaime told the priest.

He was a young looking man, barely sprouting whiskers upon his chin.

The red priest turned, his crimson robes dragging on the ground behind him. 

_Red is such a strange colour to symbolize fire.  Any fool could see fire burned orange, yellow, sometimes even green or blue, never red._  It was a trivial thought, but it further confirmed his belief that this religion was made of fools.

“Jaime look.” Brienne pointed to the night sky.  Dark and moonless the billows of smoke could barely be seen rising up above the Great Sept of Baelor.  Hues of orange light flickering against the black smoke. 

The Great Sept was a long way off in the distance, but even from where they stood they could hear an occasional anguished cry.

“What has he done?” Brienne asked.

“They are burning the false gods, they are re-sanctifying the grounds to be the Grand Temple of R’hllor the Lord of Light,” the priest answered.  His face held a dreamy blissful expression.

“Is that where you intend to take us?” Jaime asked.

“The high priestess Melisandre is waiting for you,”

Brienne looked at Jaime with a worried gaze, Jaime thought, _it’s clear she has no idea what this is about._

“I think not,” Jaime answered. Without waiting for reply he grabbed Brienne by her hand and pulled her away from the young priest.

“You must!  The King commanded it!” the priest shouted after them.

“Fuck the King, and fuck his commands,” Jaime muttered.

“Jaime.” Brienne gave him a cautioned whisper. “He is the king.”

“Brienne there are people screaming,”

“Is it not all the more reason to go?” She asked.

_Why must she always be so frustratingly noble?_

“Fine,” he growled. “Promise me you will not do anything stupidly heroic,”

“Only if you do.”She gave him a faint smile.

_Even after all these years, she still thinks too highly of me._

  


Masses of people were crowded around the plaza of the Great Sept; they had been drawn in by the fires, and held by the horrors of what the red priests and priestess had done. Seven posts had been raised, tethered to each the charred remains of corpses. Chants, prayers and song sounded like a dull hum as hundreds of the red priests and priestesses did their work.  An army of red soldiers protected them as they performed their rituals. 

“Seven save us!” A voice cried out from the crowd.

They were forced to stop their ride as the hordes of people blocked their path towards the sept. Fires burned everywhere, smoke stung his eyes, and his chest ached from coughing.  His breathing had not yet recovered from the fight with the dragon, and each inhalation felt tender.

“Are you well?” Brienne looked at him concerned.

Jaime coughed again, “Look about you Brienne.  ‘Well’ is not a word I would use.”

“Move!” The red priest yelled from atop his mount.

The people blocking their path looked up with terrified eyes at the sight of the priest’s robe.  As the mob parted, Jaime and Brienne were able to further their journey towards the desecrated Sept. Jaime looked down at those watching them .There was a mix of stunned fear, confusion, but also defiance.  The small folk directed dark and hateful glares towards himself and Brienne, but mostly they trained their eyes were upon the young priest.

 _Their revolt must surely have been tempered by the actions of these new priests_ , Jaime mused as they neared the steps. They halted and waited, having a better vantage to view the deeds the priest had wrought.

A septon was brought before a giant brazier that had been placed near the entrance of the Sept.  His robes were not fine like those septons who dwelled at King’s Landing, but they were clean and he appeared to be well kept. He was most likely a visiting septon come to the capital for a few days of prayer and spiritual renewal. The poor wretch could not have imagined the spectacle that now played out before his most sacred of places. The septon was of his own age, slight of figure with a dark beard.  He walked with a noble presence and did not cower as he was brought before a red priest.

“Do you forsake the Seven for the one true god, the lord of light, R’hllor?” The priest asked the septon.

“You will burn in the seven hells.  All of you.”

“Take his tongue,” the priest said dismissively.

Jaime shook his head at Brienne. _Do not do anything,_ he silently commanded.

Three soldiers held down the septon as a fourth pinched and sliced out the septons tongue. The septon fell to the ground and shrieked; a thick trickle of blood spilled over his hands and sullied the whites of his robes.  The soldier who cut out his tongue tossed it unceremoniously into one of the brazier.  

_I wonder how many tongues have cooked in those fires today?_

Another septon was brought forward.  This man was a King’s Landing septon if Jaime ever saw one.  His robes were silken and embroidered with tiny crystals and gemstones.  The fear present in this man’s eyes was pronounced, blue watery orbs that appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“Do you forsake the Seven for the Lord of Light,R’hllor?”

The terrified septon nodded his head emphatically ‘yes’, “I do. I do.” He trembled.

A soldier came with dagger in hand, slicing into the fabrics of the septon’s richly adorned robes.  Stripping him of it completely. The man was left shaking in his small clothes.  A red priest brought him a much less impressive robe of red.  The former septon of the Seven shivered as he was led away, clutching his recently acquired new red robes to his chest.

“Melisandre is ready for your now,” the red priest who had led them to this place informed them.

Jaime dismounted and Brienne followed. He could feel the dread growing in his heart as the progressed further inside.

Another priest followed by a couple met them as they passed through.  They had a bewildered look about them, but appeared unharmed.  The man was familiar to Jaime. _A lord from the Riverlands perhaps?_ The lord’s wife was draped in deep green cloak, but Jaime could not see a sigil. This was not the place to exchange pleasantries, and instead Jaime simply nodded to the lord and his wife. They returned the greeting, and continued their trek towards the exit of the Sept.

“Melisandre of Ashaii, High Priestess of King’s Landing, servant to R’hllor, Lord of Light.”

The red priestess smiled at them as they entered the vast room of worship.  The altars and likenesses of the Seven had been thoroughly demolished. Jaime’s eyes drifted to where the altar of the mother had been, where he had last fucked Cersei.

 _Cersei would have loved this,_ he thought with some amusement.  The walk of penance the High Sparrow had enforced upon her was meant to break her, but it had only fuel her hatred.  She had vanquished her enemies, and dissolved the Faith Militant. The little sparrows were now easy prey for the red warriors of R’hllor.

The seven-pointed star that had been inlaid into the white marble floor had been gutted, what replaced it looked like a wound filled with fire. A shallow ditch of flames carved into the length of the floor, the soot and smoke already beginning to form a film upon the crystals and colourful glassed windows above them.

“No need for introductions, Brienne and I are old friends.” Melisandre greeted them.

“I would not say that,” Brienne replied matter-of-factly.

Jaime couldn’t help but grin at his wife's response.

The red priestess seemed unphased, “Come closer to me.”

Jaime and Brienne approached her as she beckoned.

“What a striking couple you make.  Congratulations Brienne on your knighting, a most deserved honour.”

 _Her smile seems genuine, but it is hard to tell with women.  Most women…_ Jaime thought. With Brienne he never had to guess at her mood.

“Stannis has decreed that all noble marriages of the realm be legitimized by the Lord of Light. Those who refuse will be considered enemies of the crown, and dealt with as traitors. After this ceremony today and upon your return home, you are to take a red priest or priestess with you.  They are to be established a place of worship and protected within your walls. You are to cut out the tongues of your septons and septas if they do not agree to give up their false beliefs.”

“That is madness,” Jaime scoffed.

“I will not do that,” Brienne affirmed.

Ignoring them, Melisandre warned, “Refusal is not a path you wish to take.  There are dire consequences to those who do not heed Stannis’ orders.

The scene outside had been deliberate, a grim display of the King’s justice.

Melisandre continued, “One child from each house is to be promised to the Lord of Light, to tutor and learn of his blessings and gifts.  When they turn three and ten, they will return here and a path shall be chosen for them.”

“What path?” Brienne asked.

“There are three paths of service for those who belong to the Lord of Light, priest, a giver of pleasure, or warrior.  I’ve no doubt a child born of you two would hold a blade for R’hllor.” Melisandre smiled at them, her tone seemed to imply they should be happy with this fate.

 _She will not have either of them,_ Jaime promised. _Fuck her red demon god._ “Fine.  Let me marry my wife and be done with this,” Jaime said through gritted teeth.

Brienne looked at him in shock, but she bit her tongue and did not protest.

“My lady Brienne, your cloak please.”  The red priestess held out her hand to take Brienne’s ruined cloak from her. Melisandre draped it over one of her arms and walked to the other side of her flames where she began to recite the marriage vows of her god. “The night is dark and full of terrors, alone we are born and alone we die, but as we walk through this black vale we draw strength from one another, and from you our lord. Two come forth today to join their lives so that they may face the darkness together. Fill their hearts with fire my lord, so they may walk your shining path hand in hand forever.”

Her chanting went on, and on, asking for protection from the servants of darkness,protection for the King, the realm and its people, the flames danced unnaturally beneath her fingertips.

When she was done, she bid them jump over the fires. “Two went into the flames, one emerges.” Melisandre handed Brienne’s cloak to Jaime.  He gripped it with his one good hand. The cloak was torn, and stained with the blood of those she had fought and killed. So very different from the lavish cloak he had gripped back at Casterly Rock, for the wedding that never was.

Brienne turned her back to him, and dipped slightly.  Jaime placed the corner of the cloak about her left shoulder, her hand reached up to meet his, her fingers brushing against his lightly as she gripped the fabric in her fingertips.  She fastened the left side as he draped and fastened the cloak about the clasp of her right.

A song was sung by the priests and priestess as he secured the tattered cloak about Brienne’s shoulders.

“Kiss your wife.” Melisandre gave another of her smiles.

Jaime pressed his lips upon Brienne’s.  Full lips that had been so hot, wet and wanting earlier that morning were now tight, and would not part for him.   _She is furious,_ Jaime realized.

The same red priest that had led them in, now escorted them out.  As they walked in silence down the long hall they were passed by a pale-faced couple on their way to see the red priestess. No doubt about to endure the same ceremony walked passed them.  

Brienne had not said a single word to him since they left the Great Sept of Baelor. It wasn’t until they were within the secure confines beyond of Tyrion’s gates that she pulled on the reigns of her horse, bringing the beast to an abrupt halt. She turned to address him. 

“How could you? How could you promise one of our children to that woman?” she cried.

“How could I? Perhaps you did not notice the tongues that were being severed, the charred corpses, and an army of hundreds!”

“Our children Jaime!” she hissed.

He could feel his own anger building.  “Do you really think I would give our children away so easily?”

“You have,” she answered back coldly as she dismounted her horse, handing the reins to one of Tyrion’s men.

Her words fell on him like a blow. It was rare they argued; he could count the number of major squabbles they had on his one good hand.  Fighting with Brienne was never pleasant.  Where Cersei had burned hot with her fury, Brienne’s anger was a deep cold burn that could last for days.

He dismounted and handed his horse off to the waiting man.  “Leave us.  Now,” he growled. Even in the midst of his temper he knew enough to send the servants away. His father had taught him to never allow those beneath him to witness discord between family members.

Jaime walked briskly to catch up to Brienne. “Stop!” he shouted at her.

Brienne paused, but refused to face him.

“You think I wanted to send our children away? You think I would give that woman Giselda or Evan? Do you know what it was like to be parted from you? To believe you dead?  Do you realize _I_ was dead inside without you?”

Brienne turned to look him in the eye. Her composure left her, and her freckled face twisted in anguish. “Jaime. I’m sorry.  I just want my babes.  The hurt is too great,” She clutched at her chest, “I need them,” she whispered, her voice threatening to break.

Jaime embraced her, held her tightly as she sobbed upon his shoulder. He kissed her cheek, the wet tears salty upon his lips. “We will have them soon Brienne.  I promise. Please do not cry.”

Brienne nodded as she swallowed her gasping sobs, her hands brushed away the tears that stained her face.

Jaime guided her back towards the doors, where a guard permitted them entry.  The exhaustion of the day felt embedded into his bones.  If he had his way he would crawl into bed with Brienne and not emerge until his children arrived.  

“Welcome back,” Tyrion said.  His brother’s voice startled them both.  They had not expected Tyrion to be sitting at their table in their rooms.  In the chair beside him sat a small woman with dark hair and blue eyes. Jaime couldn’t help but notice the wine between them, and the stain of it upon Tyrion’s lips.

“Hello Brienne,” The woman smiled warmly at his wife.

“Tysha!” Brienne exclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commasplice thank-you for getting through this! 
> 
> Omg Tysha!!!


	45. Witches and Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's letter reaches the Rock.

Giselda played with her raspberries covered in thick sweet cream.  She squeezed a fat round berry with her fork, one squishy plop, followed by another. Benjen and Evan were talking again about  lions and the rumoured witches that lived in the caves. Giselda was beginning to doubt their existence.  They had been at Casterly Rock for many months and had yet to see either. Each day they went for a ride on the ponies their father had sent to them.  Ser Hyle would take them out when the weather was nice, but he never let them stray from the paths of the forest. Giselda could only look up to the cliffs above her with searching eyes, hoping to spy one of the famed lions, or better yet, a witch.

Giselda decided to name her horse, Chestnut; it was a name that made sense as the colour of her pony was the colour of a brown chestnut.  Evan had named his black pony Blue;he would not say why.

She sat at the table impatiently waiting for Ser Hyle, Evan, and Benjen to finish their breakfast. Septa Jayne sipped her tea, and peppered the children with chastisements on their table manners as she did every morning.

“Giselda stop fidgeting!” Septa Jayne corrected her.

Giselda sighed as one of the servant girl Aster offered a second helping of sliced melon and red raspberries to Benjen. _Maybe that’s why his hair is so red?_ Giselda thought.  Aster sliced a ripe melon into five equal pieces with her knife, handing one to each of those at the table. Giselda shook her head glumly and refused the fruit.

“Good morning,” Sansa greeted them as she strode into the room.  It was a rare surprise as she usually ate her breakfast early, and preferred to take her morning walks while the children ate. Lady Sansa looked like all the princesses Giselda had ever imagined from her mother's stories. She dressed in beautiful colourful gowns and her skirts looked like a garden bed with all the flowers embroidered upon them. _Mother had always been so good at stories; she never even needed to look at the books_. Sansa kissed Benjen upon his head. Giselda squished another berry with her fork and tried to think of something else.

“Hyle, I must speak to you. Septa Jayne, if you would be so good as to take the children out today?”

All three children groaned. Septa Jayne was never as much fun as Ser Hyle. She would bore them with tests on the sigils of the noble houses, and scold them when they got dirty.

“Of course, Lady Sansa. Are you feeling well?”  Septa Jayne asked,  “Is something the matter? You look flushed.”

Lady Sansa said, “A letter from my lord husband. It is word from the capital, there has been a battle. Stannis is now the king.”   

Giselda didn’t know who ‘Stannis’ was, but she decidedly did not like him.  He had ruined her morning.

“What of the queen?” septa Jayne asked.  “What has become of Queen Daenerys?”

“She’s been killed, along with one of her dragons.”

“One of the dragons is dead?” Evan asked, his face looked sad.

Giselda remembered the queen and her dragon when they landed on their beaches back home.  She had dared Evan to touch the creature, but he refused.  She had asked the queen if she could pet her dragon. 'Perhaps' the queen had said with smiling beautiful purple eyes and strange white hair.  That was when she heard her mother call their names from the hill.  She had never seen mother look so frightened before , but she looked scared that day Giselda remembered.

"What of Ser Jaime?" Septa Jayne asked.

Both Giselda and Evan looked to Sansa with the mention of their fathers name.

“There is more, but I need to speak with Ser Hyle,” Sansa said.

Septa Jayne nodded, her face looked grim, as she spoke, “It’s a lovely day for a walk in the gardens. Shall we children?”

“I’ll go with you if you’d like?” Aster offered. "If you need help with the little ones."

“That would be nice, thank you, Aster.  You can clear this when you return.”  Lady Sansa looked anxious for them to leave.

Ser Hyle remained at the table and called after them as they were ushered out, “Evan, Giselda, mind your septa!”

 

 

“Now children, can you tell me which house has the green and white stripes with three pepper pots?” 

The children thought a bit, calling out incorrect answers, until finally Evan shouted, “House Spicer!” 

Septa Jayne praised him.“Excellent. Now how about…”

Giselda became bored and thought of ways she could escape.  It was pointless to play this game when Evan could name almost every house, and even little Benjen seemed better at it than she.

“Can we please go to the southern gardens?” Giselda pleaded. There were more interesting things to see there.

“That is such a far way off, and its mostly stone.  Wouldn’t you rather see the pretty flowers of the eastern gardens?”

“Lady Sansa did seem to want time to speak with Ser Hyle. Perhaps we should keep them out longer,” Aster offered.

Septa Jayne sighed.“Very well.”

Giselda ran ahead of the boys towards the path leading to the rock gardens of the south. “Race you to the tree stump!” Giselda challenged once she was well ahead of them.

“You are cheating!” Evan called back.

From behind, Little Benjen pumped his tiny legs as he tried to keep up with his cousins.

“Be careful! Slow down!” Septa Jayne called after them.

Giselda’s lungs burned, but she refused to slow until her foot touched the white tree stump in the middle of the stony path. Satisfied with her clear victory, she plopped down on top of it and breathed heavily. Giselda rubbed her hand over the stump, the whiteness reminded her of bone. She had seen a bone once, back home in the training yards.  A man had broken his leg, and the snapped white bone had been shocking as it poked straight through his flesh.

As Evan rounded the corner of the stone wall, he stopped and leaned forward panting. Benjen came shortly after, he too out of breath.

Giselda had an idea. “Let's hide on them!”

“Yes!” Benjen agreed.  He agreed with most anything.

Evan looked doubtful and said, “Hide where?”

“Come with me!” Giselda ran wanting to get out of Septa Jayne’s sight.  She didn’t want to tell them the ‘caves’ knowing they would be too scared and would refuse to follow.

There was a hole in the stone walls they could easily squeeze through easily.All three children slid down the rocky hill into the brush of the cedar forest, finding the first cave they hunkered in and waited to be found.

 

 

They waited for such a length that Evan and Benjen had begun to plead they return, Giselda had to admit even she had grown bored with the game.

“Come we must go back now. We are going to be in so much trouble,”Evan said.

It was strange that they hadn’t heard their septa calling for them.  She was getting hungry anyway. “Let's go,” Giselda relented.

When they stepped out of the cave she was unsure which direction they had come. They walked aimlessly about trying to find the path they had cut.  Benjen cried more, Evan comforted the boy, and Giselda’s worry grew. A shaking of the brush startled them all.

“It's a lion!” Benjen yelled.

Giselda could feel her heart pounding. She reached for her dagger that she kept in her belt. The one Uncle Tyrion had given her. She kept it sharp, the way mother had shown her.

The servant girl Aster burst through the thicket, her hair was loose and her skirts were stained and torn.

The children all breathed a sigh of relief.

“There you are!” Aster cried. “Your septa and I have been looking for you everywhere! Why did you run away like that?”

“Giselda told us we should,” Benjen said with a trembling lip.

Giselda glared at him. “You agreed!”

“It was your idea,” Evan defended his little cousin.

“Enough!” Aster said looking thoroughly irritated.“Benjen. Go back up that path and wait for me in the stone gardens. Straight up there. I need to speak to your cousins.”

Benjen did as he was commanded.

“Where is Septa Jayne?” Evan asked.

Aster watched Benjen climb up the hill, a small tumbling of rocks rolling down as he went. When he disappeared at the top the servant girl turned to them.“A dragon has died. I was only to take one for a dragon.  A child for a child. But my queen is gone too...”

Giselda squinted at the woman, there was a queer feeling in her stomach and her skin prickled.  

Aster stepped towards them. Her one arm reaching for Evan, she bent down to embrace him. It happened too fast, a glint of the knife's blade disappearing into his chest. The same knife she had cut his melon with.

When she let him go, Evan took a single step and fell to the forest floor. Giselda couldn’t move. Her breathing felt funny, her chest hurt and her eyes were blurry; so blurry that and she could barely make out the woman coming towards her with the knife.

 _That is Evan’s blood on that knife_ , she thought.  Giselda remembering the dagger she gripped in her own hand screamed at the woman as she barrelled into her. She remembered her mother's words: _If an enemy is stronger than you, injure them if you can, then run. Do not try to fight them. You run_!

Aster seemed startled as Giselda came at her. Knowing it was an opportunity, Giselda sliced the woman in the leg with her small golden dagger. Aster spun as she clutched her leg spurting blood.  She fell and cut at Giselda’s arm with her own knife as she landed on the earthen forest floor. Aster reached out to grab Giselda, but the little girl was too quick. Giselda ran away dodging and weaving through the thick trunks of the trees. She did her best to ignore the pain of her injured arm. When she turned, Aster was hobbling after her, her skirts drenched in blood. Giselda tripped, her dagger went falling, and the woman was on top of her.  Giselda bit and clawed at Aster, scratching her across the face, but the woman was too strong and she was unable to move beneath the woman’s weight.  Giselda screamed and raged at her. And then suddenly a gushing of warmth fell upon Giselda’s face, filling her mouth and blinding her eyes.

When Giselda opened her eyes, a golden woman stood behind Aster. With a snarling look of disgust set upon her face, the golden woman gripped Giselda’s bloody dagger. In her other hand, she held Aster’s hair. She let the hair go and Aster fell to the side  of her dead.

Giselda wiped the blood out of her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“You poor thing,” the golden woman cooed. “Come here darling, you’re safe now.”

Giselda refused to move, and the golden woman came to her.  Wrapping her arms about her, she pulled her into an embrace. Giselda could feel herself crying.  Her brother was dead and her arm hurt.

“Come with me. We shall get my friend to look at that cut. He will mend you, little one.”

Giselda felt like she was being smothered by the woman’s long golden hair as it fell across her face.

“No, my brother,” Giselda gasped between her cries.

“Your brother is dead, Giselda,” The woman replied.

“How do you know my name?” She would have remembered meeting this woman.

“I know so much about you.  I know your mother is dead, and every little girl needs a mother. You should have been mine.” The woman smiled as she brushed a strand of her hair from her face. The golden woman smiled at her lovingly.

“Evan! Giselda!” A voice echoed out through the forest. It was Ser Hyle.

The golden-haired woman looked up towards the bluffs. She grabbed Giselda and covered her hand with her mouth. _Her skin smells funny… like old meat._ Giselda struggled to breath under the woman's grasp.

“Hush, poppet!” the woman whispered into her ear.

“Giselda! Evan! Came Ser Hyle's call again, followed by a startling. “My boy, no, no!”

Giselda could hear Ser Hyle beyond the trees. “My son!”

"Not Jaime's son..." the golden woman whispered.

An agonized cry unlike anything she had ever heard echoed out. A flock of crows burst through the branches at the sound. Giselda struggled against the tight grip of the golden woman’s arms, but could not break free. She bit into her hand as hard as she could, but the woman would not budge. It was like she couldn’t feel her teeth at all.  Giselda bit harder, a chunk of flesh fell into her mouth; there was nowhere for it to go. The morsel of the woman's hand tasted of dirt and blood in her mouth. Afraid she would choke, Giselda closed her eyes and swallowed.  Her stomach felt sick like she would throw up. And she did.

The woman still would still not let her go.  Giselda choked on her vomit, some of it coming through her nose, clogging her only hope of breathing.  She could feel herself passing out from lack of air. The trees swirled around her and the sound of the crows grew fainter. Then finally as the woman let her go, Giselda coughed out the vomit and gasped, the bit of flesh from the woman's hand lay on the pine needles before her on the ground, the sight of it made her throw up more, when she was done she shrieked, “Ser Hyle!”

Giselda looked around with terrified eyes.  The golden lady was gone.  Giselda scrambled to her fallen dagger, clutching it in her fingers. “Ser Hyle!” she screamed again.

He came crashing through the trees, “Giselda!” Ser Hyle gathered her in his arms.  His face white with worry. “Child what happened?”

Giselda buried her face into his neck. “I want to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not an easy one for me. I hated to do it.
> 
> Thank-you to Commasplice for beta reading. 
> 
> Bonus points to any of those remembering Aster from Chapter 34.


	46. Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hang on tight, we're going inside Cersei's head!

_Why can’t I see?_ Cersei tried to speak the words, but found she could not move her lips and her throat would elicit no sound.

“Try to be still,” came the whisper from the void. “I apologize, Your Grace, I would have been here sooner, but your brother would not leave your side.

 _Jaime_ , was the last thing she thought before slipping away.

A horrible smell awoke her, it was rotten and vile.  It smelled of old death.  Like her father had smelled.   _Tywin.  I am Lord Tywin’s only daughter…._

When she awoke a third time the smell still lingered, but she could see slightlynow. It was as if she peered through a foggy glass window where blurred light and shadow moved before her. “Where am I?” she rasped.  The sound of her voice startled her it was so coarse and foreign.

“Try not to move, Your Grace.” A darker shadow moved in front of her.  With a familiar voice he asked, “Do you know who I am?”

“Qyburn,” Cersei whispered.   _What have you done?_

She felt a rushing of warmth inside her.  The feeling was pleasant and she welcomed it.  

“Be still, you will feel much better after this.”

“What are you doing?” Cersei choked out another whisper.

“Blood, Your Grace.  I’m giving you blood,” Qyburn answered.

Cersei closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of life flowing back into her veins.

She lay helpless like that for what felt an eternity in those early days Dependent upon Qyburn to provide for her.  The winter had been long and hard, and small folk were desperate.  Many sold their unwanted daughters to Qyburn, never questioning what his intent was.  They most likely assumed it was to sate the perverse proclivities of an aging man.  He had the coin, and they had daughters to spare.  Gold in exchange for the girls, gold that could purchase a sack of grain to feed their sons.

_It is always the daughters who suffer…_

She resigned herself to the fate of the unwanted peasant girls. Their deaths were the only way Qyburn could substain her. She had been so incredibly weak, as helpless as a newborn babe. Her skin had been sallow and shriveled. The blood from each girl Qyburn leeched revived her and improved her appearance remarkably.  In time the withered and crusted flesh turned soft again, and its color glowed with lovely hues of pinks.  Her hair which had been shorn away began to grow once more. The small dull sprouts grew into long tendrils, soft and golden. When she became strong and desirable enough she helped select her victims. Men were more than willing to lay with a woman, especially with a ‘whore’ who charged so little. Most often she would pour the potion Qyburn had given her into their ale, steal them away to some quiet place and wait for them to keel over. Every so often, though, she’d lay with a man, close her eyes, and think of Jaime. They’d fuck, and when he was finished she would wait for the sounds of his slumber. She would sink her knife into the sweet spot that Qyburn had shown her.  Carefully gathering the hot blood spilling out of his throat, she would think,  _See father? I too am good with a blade…_

Everyday she became more like herself, growing stronger with each treatment. It would only be a matter of time until she was once again beautiful and able to take back all that was hers.  Her memories were not always clear and she often depended upon Qyburn to help her remember.

She recalled being queen, her sweet babes, all dead, and she remembered Jaime.  It had been when she had sent him away that all she held dear had turned to rot.  

_Jaime’s hand around my throat… but he couldn’t do it.  He loved me, he loves me… He will always love me._

In her heart she knew that beastly woman was no real concern.   _If he knows I live, he will turn away from her_. She felt giddy with the thought of seeing him again.

 

The snow was falling outside gently collecting on the floor at the entrance of the cave.

Everything looked soft and gentle in the glow of the fire Qyburn had prepared.

“How much longer until I am fully healed?” she asked him as he pressed a needle into her arm. “I wish to see my brother.”

Qyburn did not answer and continued to feed her the blood. She watched the dark liquid flow from the needle through what looked like small intestines.  She looked away and focused on his face.

“Your brother is no longer lord of Casterly Rock, your Grace,” Qyburn said.  

Cersei narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”

“He forfeited his claim to the Imp.”

“Tyrion?” She raged, ripping his instruments from her arms, sending droplets of blood flying across his wrinkled face and splattering the cave wall. “How can that be?”

Qyburn wiped the blood from his face calmly.  Nothing ever unsettled the man.  “Your brother moved to Tarth with his new bride.”

“She?”  Cersei sat upon a rock in disbelief.  “She?” Cersei asked again. _He actually married that monstrosity? Why in the gods name would he do that? Tarth?_ She began to feel despondent knowing her brother was so far away. “Why did you bring me back from death?  To assault me with this cruelty?”

“You asked me to.”

She _had_ asked him, she realized, the memory coming back. Enemies had surrounded her at King’s Landing, those wretched Tyrell’s she had finally managed to cut loose and send back to High Garden. Free to rule again of her own accord.  Those that challenged her met Ser Robert Strong’s blade. _The little Stark bitch had ruined it all._ _Choosing Jaime as her champion… I had been so furious with him.  Surely he will forgive me. I’ve forgiven him for Tommen._

Tommen had been a weak child, but there had been a light inside him, he never did burn as bright as Joffery, but what child could? The light that had been inside Tommen dimmed, he was nothing but a husk of a child after Qyburn’s treatments.  Perhaps she should have killed the old maester then. She would have too if given the opportunity.  It was in her grief that word came of the fighting at the wall, of a Targaryen with silvery hair and three bloody dragons. With Tommen gone, her power had been extinguished. It was like it had been when Joffery had died; her enemies conspired against her, and they had almost finished her. She was no fool; she knew the only recourse was to flee, and to recoup.  She needed to go where she would be safe, the only place she could think of was Casterly Rock.

“You should have left me be. Remember Tommen?”

“You are nothing like Tommen, his condition was most unfortunate.  These methods are still quite new, but I remembered your words. ‘If anything should ever happen to me, revive me so I can exact my revenge.’”

She had said that. _Yes, now I remember._

“You are nothing like anything I’ve ever created.  You are remarkably special.”

She rather did like those words. _Why was his hand upon my throat?_ She tried to remember what had happened to make Jaime act so, but could not recall. It vexed her greatly to have so many uncertainties facing her.  “I wonder why the gods have deemed it fit to have me live again?” she mused.

“When your brother finished with his mourning, I paid one of the Silent Sisters to look at your body. When she opened the crypt, it was clear you were too far gone for there to be any hope, and yet I used gold to convince the woman to help me take you away.  There was a terrible blizzard that night, it had been almost impossible to find this cave. Still we managed, she held you steady upon the horse, while I lead the way through the woods. Her blood was the first I used to treat you. I tried all the usual techniques, with no change.  There have been rumours in the Riverlands of another who was revived by a Red Priest. I will try anything once, if only to prove it was wrong.  I started with the gods I knew and said a prayer to the seven in your name, to bring you back. That is when you stirred. Perhaps the gods have a plan for you.”

Cersei settled her eyes upon this dark little man before her. _Could there be truth in his words?_ “Perhaps,” she answered back.  

 

In time she could forage for blood herself, frequenting the villages surrounding the inn, never lingering too long upon one place.  It was best to avoid suspicion.

 

Cersei left the ramshackle inn, her blood warm and revived from a leeching.

The night was crisp, and blue and the dwellings of the village glowed yellow with candle light from within. It was peaceful and still, except for the sounds of someone splitting logs nearby. The moon peeked out just over the horizon beyond the Rock.  Her eyes looked at it longingly.  She often contemplated walking up to the gates; perhaps a guard would recognize her.  Who would believe her elsewise?  But even if she was permitted entry.  Tyrion would have her killed, she was certain of it.   _He would be wise to do so,_ she thought with malice.

  
It was a long walk back to the caves where Qyburn would be waiting for her.  In her hand, she held a bundle of food, stale bread and sharp cheese. Food was no longer a concern for her; all she required now was the blood. She did not dare take too many men; it would raise too much suspicion. Girls on the other hand people tended to miss less.  Pulling her hood around her face she pushed through the drifting snowbanks through the center of the village.

A girl stood by the well.  She was alone and peering over the stone into the frigid waters below.  Cersei watched her from a distance, there was something familiar about the girl.   _No one else around, I could take her as well…_

  
She was about to approach the girl  when a horse came from down the hill.  Its rider’s red hair flew behind her in the wind.  

Cersei’s new blood felt as though it boiled inside her at the sight of Sansa. Holding her place beside the inn she watched Sansa speak with the girl by the well.  Cersei could not hear what they were saying from her hiding place, but the more she watched them converse, the more her suspicions grew. It was when they embraced that Cersei knew...

_Ned’s youngest daughter, the one who had escaped… Arya._

She hid as the girls turned back towards the inn.  She knew she should go before she was recognized, but her curiosity was too great.  She followed them towards the sound of the chopping wood and heard a cry.

“Damn it, Arya!" The young man said more, but Cersei could not hear his words.  Her mind reeled with the name, _Robert, Robert, Robert…_

She backed away from the inn, and rushed into the safe cover of the snowy woods, closer towards the caves.   _It was not Robert, you idiot!_ She internally screamed at herself.   _Robert is dead.  The boy was far too young…_ She shook her head, frustrated with how cloudy her thoughts could be.   _That red-headed Stark bitch is plotting something_.  

 

Years passed, the snows melted, and the information flowed. It took time, but she made friends with those with access to the Rock. Coin she yet had plenty of, and the friends she made were far too young to remember her face. She was much more patient than what she had been in her previous life.   _I pity those who cross me no_ w. She smiled.

 

She learned of Sansa’s being locked away by Aunt Genna, of the baby that Tyrion had put in her womb, of the rumours that it was not Tyrion’s at all.  

Her darkest day had been when she learned of Jaime siring two babies upon his lunk of a wife. Her heart wept at the knowledge that the woman had birthed twins. _Babes that should have been mine_ , she thought sadly.  She had wondered what would happen if she sewed her skirts with rocks and thrown herself from the cliffs into the crashing green waters below.  Would she sink and settle there at the bottom of the ocean? Would she turn to foam and float to the top without her blood?  The only thing that kept her from doing so was remembering her revenge. 

When the little children came from Tarth, she couldn’t resist watching them.  Her heart had been so happy when she learned their mother had died.  It had given her hope for her future.  If she could get near them she could sever the ties of his old life. Jaime and she could start over again.

There had been a crowd of peasants gathered, all curious to see the offspring of the famed Dragonslayer and Kingslayer.  The children’s small sad faces passed her that day.  She squinted, searing their image into her memory.  She promised herself she would kill them both when the opportunity presented itself.

The gods smiled upon her again that day in the woods.  She was gathering the roots Qyburn had shown her, the ones he used to create the sleeping potion they needed.  She heard little voices. One sounded like a small boy about to cry. She felt chilled and thought perhaps a little blood might be just the thing.  A child offered so little, but if he was close, why not make the most of the opportunity?

She stepped quietly towards the sound of the children, arriving in time to spy the little red-headed boy being sent away. Her eyes widened as she recognized Jaime’s children. They stood in place with the servant woman as they watched their little cousin climb away.   _The tears Sansa would shed,_ Cersei thought, wondering if she should attempt to follow him.   _She ended my child’s life, why should I not have hers?_ Her murderous thoughts were ended by the actions of the servant woman.

Cersei stood in mute shock as the little boy fell to the earth and the golden-haired girl sprinted away after delivering a slice of her own to the woman.  Without thought, Cersei chased after them and grabbed the woman from behind.  The knife she had been using to dig at the roots was dirty and dull, but it was plenty sharp enough to open the servant’s throat.  

The girl was hers to do with what she liked.  She was blinded with blood and frightened by what she had witnessed.  It would have been so easy to end her life then, but when the girl looked up at her she saw Jaime, Myrcella, Tommen, and Joff. Cersei even saw a little of her own image within the girls blood soaked features. Instead of plunging her knife into the girl, Cersei wrapped her in her arms and tried to comfort her.

 _She can come with me.  I will take care of her.  Jaime will be so grateful… she can be ours._ They were brief and fleeting thoughts interrupted by the shouts of their steward.  Calls of the children's names that quickly turned into cries of grief, cries that revealed the boy had been no son of Jaime’s at all.

“Not Jaime’s son…” she whispered gleefully. Her mind whirled with all the possibilities this knowledge could afford her.  She had been distracted completely from the girl squirming within her arms.  Realizing the young one was choking and suffocating, she reluctantly let her go.    


 _I’ll find you again, daughter, _ Cersei thought as she moved away from the gasping child.   _Every little girl needs a mother._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I kind of like writing ghoulish and horrible things. :)
> 
> Thank-you to Commaplice for talking me into posting this one!  
> I've been feeling a little unsure lately. So I am very grateful.


	47. Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime learn of Evan's fate.

They had shared several dinners with Tyrion and his newly-returned wife, Jaime observed Tysha, in hopes of determining her motives.  She, like all whores was a good talker, conversing easily during their meals. She laughed and parried wits with Tyrion. His brother seemed thoroughly enamoured with the woman; it was clear Tyrion was in love.  As the days and evenings passed Tyrion and Tysha grew closer, their amiable  affections displayed for all the house to see. The speed at which their tenderness grew made Jaime suspicious.   The gods knew Tyrion deserved some small shred of happiness, given the misery their father had inflicted upon them all. The thought of Tysha’s rape all those many years ago and the part he had played turned Jaime’s stomach, and soured his appetite.

As great as Jaime's desire was for Tyrion to find happiness with Tysha, he couldn't help but wonder at the woman's intentions.  Of all the stories Brienne had shared, she seemed to have an eye for gold. One evening Jaime found he could no longer bite his tongue.

Tysha fed Tyrion a grape, holding the bunch by the stem with her fingers, pulling it away just as Tyrion’s teeth snapped to miss the fruit. She giggled as Tyrion grabbed her and pulled her forward, landing a kiss upon her mouth.  He jested that ‘they too should jump a fire ditch’, a reference to the numerous fire-weddings the priests and priestesses were performing.

“Perhaps you are forgetting your red-headed lady wife at the Rock?” Jaime interjected.

The cutting remark wiped the smiles from their faces. Jaime took no pleasure in their reaction, and he silently cursed himself for his callousness. An awkward silence permeated their meal, thankfully near its end they were able to part ways for the evening.

When they returned to their rooms Brienne scolded him with the reminder, “I would be dead without her. You would do well to remember that.”

They went to bed angry that night. When he rubbed his hand beneath her small clothes, to caress her bare skin, she gripped his fingers, and pushed him away. He sighed and rolled over, thinking she would forgive him in the morning. 

 

They were seated in Tyrion’s solar, enjoying the warmth of the late morning sun. Brienne's anger from the previous night had cooled and they sat together sharing ripe plums and beloved memories of home.  It seemed to be a habit they had fallen into, speaking of their life back at Tarth.  They both desperately wished to return, but it would only be a few scant weeks until their children arrived at King’s Landing. It was tempting to pick up and head west towards Casterly Rock, in hopes of meeting the children, but the thought of missing them on the journey was a risk they dare not take. Instead they bided their time, eating Tyrion's rich foods, making love, and sword fighting in the garden courtyard.

"What will you be the first thing you do when we return?" Jaime asked her.

She smiled and considered her answer, "Perhaps it's time I took up needle work again."

"Needlework? This is your answer?" Jaime laughed, not expecting that reply.

"I have things my mother made , they are treasures to me.  I think I would like to make something for the children. Little toys of some kind. Soon they won't be interested in toys at all." Brienne sighed.

"What about you?" Brienne asked him.

"When we return home, I plan to fuck you in every room." Jaime grinned wickedly.

Brienne threw a half eaten plum at him, he ducked and it went crashing into one of the plants behind him.  Jaime laughed uproariously as Tyrion walked in, amused by his wife's embarrassment at being caught for her naughty behavior.

"Oh Tyrion! I'm sorry for that!" Brienne reddened and flustered.

"What is it?" Jaime's laughter was cut short, he could tell by the grim expression upon his brothers face he had ill news.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “Your son is dead.” Tyrion looked at them with pity through glassy eyes. “This arrived from Sansa this morning,” He held out a tiny scroll, a message from the Rock. “I’m so sorry...” Tyrion trailed off weakly.

Brienne sat beside him as still as stone. Jaime rose from his seat and took the letter from his brother’s hand.

His heart pounding like a war drum in his chest Jaime read, _‘Evan was found by Ser Hyle Hunt in the woods, he was stabbed through the heart, a quick death..._ There was more, but his eyes would not leave the words, ‘a quick death’.

Once, twice, and then again he read Sansa’s neat and tiny scrawl. A short and grim message, that blotted out all hopes of happiness.

He looked up to Brienne, his face agonized by the reality of Sansa's words.

"Is it true?" She asked weakly, all the bloom of her blush had faded, her face had gone pale and her wide blue eyes were filled with fear.

 _It could not be true_ , he thought _, but why would she lie?_   "It is what Sansa has written, she says Evan is dead." His voice broke.

Brienne's face crumpled , and her shrieks rang through the room, Jaime did his best to hold her, as she sobbed.

Jaime set his own grief to the side. It frightened him to see Brienne lose control in such a way, never in their time together had he witnessed her so unbridled and raw. He felt such constriction in his throat that it was as if he was being strangled from within, but he knew he had to be strong for her. He held her when she slumped down on Tyrion’s floor. When her cries quieted some he lead her away to the privacy of their rooms.  Collapsing into their bed she cried convulsively against his chest, her tears drenching his shirt, and her horrible wails cutting through him like a knife.  

 _I would take it all Brienne,_ he thought. _I would take all this pain…_ but he knew it was theirs to share.  Closing his eyes, he too wept into the crown of her cropped locks. They lay like that holding each other until blessed sleep came, a welcome reprieve from their dark misery.

When he awoke, the truth of their lives without their son crashed upon him again like a heavy wave. He cried again, as still as he could, not wanting to wake his wife.

The days that followed were quieter, but somehow more terrible.

The death of Evan permeated their lives. Brienne’s singular rage-filled outburst subsided into a muted sorrow.  Their grief lingered in the air between them, unspoken and cold.

Jaime had sired and lost children before, three in all, but he had not been any kind of father. He had never been allowed to be. Nothing could prepare him for the grief he felt for the death of his only son with Brienne.

Even the loss of Cersei had not cut into him the way Evan’s death had. Cersei had been cruel; she had hurt others; she had almost killed Brienne.  Evan was a sweet lad who had never harmed a soul and had never said an unkind word. He had been a boy who had all his years before him. He was gone, truly gone and all for the revenge of a mad queen. Jaime felt the guilt of Evan’s death like a festering wound.  Daenerys had promised retribution if one of her ‘children’ perished, and even after her death, she had somehow found her revenge.  He should have realized she would have had servants everywhere, even at the Rock. Tyrion had warned him she had spies in every House.

 _His death is my fault. I sent him there, I was too consumed by my own grief.  I could have done more…_ Every day the words haunted him and he felt all the regret for somehow not preventing his son’s death.

Worse than the guilt, was not knowing what to do for his wife.  Brienne , became lethargic, in a way he had never seen.  She slept most of the day, ate little, and spoke less. There had been a whole day where she had not said a single word. He lay beside her and caressed her hair with his fingers, racked with guilt knowing he had done this to them.  Tyrion had ordered men to travel west, to meet the contingency that had been entrusted to bring Giselda to them safely. Jaime had wanted to ride off with the men traveling the Goldroad that very night, but he didn't dare leave Brienne.

The woman Tysha came daily to their door to see if Brienne’s temperament had improved. Brienne refused to see her; she refused to move from her bed; and she would not leave the room since the day they had learned of Evan’s death.  The only time he left her side was to request meals from the kitchen, a futile effort knowing she would not eat.

Jaime watched the flies buzz around her uneaten food. Brienne lay curled up on the bed with her back to him. Jaime sighed and covered the tray with a cloth. Turning to the window he parted the delicately-carved wooden shutters. There was a sweet fragrant air blowing through the windows.  It was a lovely evening, _much too lovely to have a dead child,_ he thought.  

Jaime jumped slightly in surprise when Brienne spoke.

“Do you remember the time Evan fell? He had been climbing the old battlement walls on the north side. I’m certain Giselda had a hand in it.”

“No doubt.”  Jaime smiled sadly.

“He hurt himself, a terrible cut." She traced her fingers over her left brow, "the lump that grew on his head was the size of an egg.”

Jaime wasn't sure where Brienne was going with the conversation, but he did not wish to interrupt.  She had spoken so little during the past few weeks.

“I tried to encourage him to think more for himself.  To not blindly do as others requested.” She stayed quiet for some time.

“Brienne?” Jaime whispered in the dark.

“The gods are punishing us,” Brienne said in a low voice.  “For that strange wedding we allowed, for Stannis knighting me. They are angry, and this is our punishment.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Jaime snapped. He was surprised by his anger and sharp words. Up until this moment, he had been so gentle with her, like she was a fragile thing that would threaten to break at the slightest jostling.

His outburst had surprised her too. She looked at him with a furrowed expression.  It was a welcome sight given the blank and expressionless mask she’d been wearing. “What other reason could it be?”

“Brienne, our son is dead because Queen Daenerys was a mad fucking Targaryen, who equated our son’s life, with that of a murderous beast,” he snarled, feeling slightly satisfied for having uttered the words aloud.

She stared at him with her dull eyes, the blankness falling across her features again.  She rolled over onto the bed, not uttering another word.

A blistering anger engulfed him.  He flung the tray from its place, silver and glass crashed upon the floor a shocking noise that forced her to turn.

“What are you doing?” she asked alarmed.

Jaime grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up from the bed.  “You’re coming with me,” he growled.

“Jaime, let go!” she protested.  Her tunic ripped at the sleeve as he dragged her along into the open courtyard.  He pressed her against the wall.

“Don’t you dare move,” he spat at her.  

His anger startled her and she did as he commanded. She wrapped her arms about herself and stood in place. Satisfied she wasn’t going to leave, Jaime collected their practice swords.  He flung her sword at her.  She was forced to uncross her arms to avoid being smacked in the skull by its hilt.

“Jaime, I do not wish to do this.”

Jaime responded by lunging at her with a hard swing that she did not expect, and one which she was unable to deflect completely.  The blades were dull, but he managed to nick her skin.  She lowered her head and reached at the tiny tendril of blood running down her neck, droplets of dark blood fell upon her shirt.  

For a moment Jaime regretted the swing.

When she looked at him, her eyes were full of a blue fury. She screamed and returned his attack with a fantastically strong series of swings, attacks no half-starved woman should have been capable of.  

 _Gods, her strength!_ Jaime thought, amazed he could still be surprised by it.

A deluge of sound rang out into the garden courtyard as angry steel crashed against steel.  They fought with a ferocious familiarity. Neither he or Brienne would give ground, and soon sweat stung his eyes and matted his hair to his face.  She had learned new things in her battle pits of Essos, moves that startled him and afforded her the upper hand with many of her attacks.  But she was weak and exhausted from her grief and lack of food. Her swings became clumsy the longer they fought. In frustration she made an ungainly lunge. He spun away from her attack, smacking the blunt side of his blade into her back. Exhausted and spent she tumbled forward into the ground, her sword flying from her hand and crashing across the stone wall.  

Jaime descended upon her where she lay, forcing her to flip over to face him. Her breathing was heavy and her chest rose and fell with each gasping breath.  He longed to kiss her, to get lost inside her if only for a moment.

He lunged his unshaven face into her neck, warm and wet with her blood and sweat.  She smelled and tasted like violence.  He groaned as his erection throbbed against her inner thigh.

“I want you,” he panted gruffly into her ear.

She said nothing as he worked at the ties of her breeches, yanking the clothing downwards.  He freed his cock, and closed his eyes at the feeling of her warmth, a low guttural moan escaped his lips at the sensation as he dove deeper into her.

When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see tears, long silvery drops that rolled down the temples of her face.  Jaime stiffened, feeling ashamed for what he had done.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered as her eyes met his, soft and pleading.

Jaime thrust his hips again, slowly at first, and then quickening with each delicious plunge. Their hungry mouths found each other. Firm but gentle fingers that he had not felt upon his flesh in so many long weeks, gripped at the back of his neck and shoulders.  

A maddening wave of pleasure pulsed through him as he collapsed upon his wife. He lay on top of her, enjoying the excruciating pleasure of feeling her own sex squeeze at his spent cock.

As soon as he had the strength, Jaime rolled to lie beside his wife in the grass. He calmed his breathing and gazed up at the night sky, a spattering of twinkling stars their canopy.

“It’s too beautiful,” Brienne said quietly.

Jaime reached for her hand with his. Bringing her fingers to his lips, he kissed her knuckle and said, “There will be many more beautiful days and nights ahead, as unfair as it may seem.”

“How are we supposed to go on?” Brienne asked.

“For Giselda,” he whispered softly. “Let all the beautiful days ahead be for her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a challenge.  
> I am eternally grateful to Commasplice for her recommendations.


	48. The Future Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya climbs the dragon pit.

Having such small feet made climbing the north wall of the pit less of a challenge, but it was not easy work. Arya's tunic felt wet with sweat; there was a tickle on the back of her neck, but the fear of falling kept her hands firmly on the corners of the stones she was climbing. She thought of Bran when they were children back at Winterfell and how he had always been so bold.  Climbing walls and towers even Robb or Jon wouldn’t attempt, and he always did it with a smile on his face.  

_That was another life._

Arya reached the pinnacle of her climb, pulling herself up to the edge of the wall, she straddled the large stone and leaned her back against one of the massive iron beams at the cusp of the ridge.

Rooftops of all houses, great and small lay below her. Arya looked away, feeling slightly dizzy. East beyond the city’s walls, only a hint of the sun’s light could be seen breaking over the horizon. Below her the faintest of movements of the few merchants, labourers, and those being cast out of inns could be seen traversing the roads and alleys.  King’s Landing was as still as the city ever got during these early hours of the morning. Arya turned her head towards the distance where the former Great Sept of Baelor lay, now called the Great Red Temple. Alongside the tall white spires, the faintest hints of smoke danced upwards into the sky.  Every night they burned someone as an offering to R’hllor.  Arya twitched her nose remembering the smell of the cooked unwavering septons and septas. Even a few silent sisters had been offered to the red god’s fires that night. As the flames licked their skin, they broke their vows of silence.

Arya returned her attention back to the dragon pit that lay directly below her. It was no longer open to the air, the top had been enclosed with a curved iron cage.  The last time she had been to this place she had been ‘Eric’ and served as squire for Lady Brienne. The carnage Drogon had inflicted upon the innocents that day had been evidence of the need for their confinement. Arya peered down, her eyes searching for the sole remaining dragon, Rhaegal. Then there was a stirring at the far end of the pit and a snort of smoke billowing out from the wall. The dragon was hidden away in one of the caves it had dug into the earth and stone.

Arya fastened her leather belt to one of the bars of the iron cage, leaned her back against the stone and closed her eyes.

Warging into a dragon was nothing like moving into the minds of the hawks, wolves, and foxes of the forest. While it was not difficult to grasp a foothold within its mind, retaining control was difficult.  She had done her best to save the lives of the Sapphire Knights that she fought beside on the day they took the Dragon’s Gate. When the first blast of fire and smoke erupted from the pits, she acted immediately allowing her empty body to collapse in the street, her mind searching for that of the threatening beast within the pit. As she entered its mind a glorious blast of colour greeted her. Its brother was at the wall roaring with rage, slamming its body up against the stone.  She could smell fear, human fear, human flesh, and it made her guts broil with hunger.  Those smells came from her brother and sister knights, she had to help protect them. Arya-as-the-dragon bit into the hide of the white dragon, throwing her head and smashing Viserion’s body into the walls.  The white dragon recoiled, turned and hissed at her, biting and clawing back.  She urged Rhaegal’s body to move, clumsily she attempted to fight back.  The beast’s mind was too foreign, and she knew she could not retain control for long.  She stumbled back, and charged again, hoping to distract the beast from the doors, distract it from the knights outside. Viserion shrieked flames and smacked her with his tale, sending her to the ground spinning. Satisfied she was subdued, he turned his attention back to the doors.  Arya-as-the-dragon tried to find her footing, to attack the white dragon again, but could not make its limbs do what she wanted.  She watched helplessly as Viserion popped its head out of the buckled doors, blasting more fire into the outer hold. When Viserion pulled his head back in, an arrow was sunk into one of its eyes.  The beast raged and shook its head, his claws searched for arrow, finally finding it he pulled it free with his claws. She felt conflicted as she watched the dragon press its head through the hole again.  _Don’t, they will kill you._ As the thoughts formed, she heard a horrendous shriek, the dragon struggled at the doors with something, and then its body collapsed into a lifeless heap.

Somewhere within her, Rhaegal recoiled.  The dragon had lost his last remaining brother. _Be still_ , Arya pleaded.  _They will kill you too. Be still._ With her dragon eyes she saw the Kingslayer cautiously peek in at her.  Rhaegal listened, and the dragon did not stir.

Rhaegal was getting more familiar with her presence.  Entering its mind was becoming easier with each visit she made to the pits.  She looked about the cool cavern it had dug into the wall and earth, she was shocked to be greeted with white, red, and black orbs. _Eggs_.  The dragon had laid eggs. Rhaegal fought against her, protective of the eggs. _Stop it. I’m not going to harm you or them._

It ceased fighting as they smelled and heard the sounds of men beyond the iron doors. The dragon’s mind stirred anxiously and Arya fought to maintain control.  The massive iron doors groaned and shrieked and opened in protest.  Her sensitive ears screamed in pain and an angry exhalation of dark smoke broiled out from Arya-as-the-dragon’s nostrils. For days she had been visiting the pits, climbing the walls and practicing to maintain her control of the dragon’s mind every morning.  She had not anticipated this interruption.

The new king was surrounded by knights, members of his kingsguard standing protectively beside him.  Behind Stannis strode in his red priestess and a young woman in brocade and silk.

“It is all right, princess.” The red priestess reassured the young woman. “The dragon will not harm you.”

“How can you be certain?” The princess looked glum.

The red woman smiled knowingly as she pushed past the guards.

“Don’t go too much further.  It’s chained, but its flames travels,” the king said gruffly as he squinted into the cavern where Arya in the mind of the dragon lay hidden.

“You see, Princess?  This creature is docile.” To prove her point the priestess continued in further. Her eyes danced happily over the dragon’s hiding place. “I’ve seen visions of the princess riding this dragon.”

Stannis turned to look at his daughter whose eyes were locked on the cavern.  Arya could feel the dragon stir again. The beast wanted to go to the princess; she struggled against its desires. A part of her wanted to release the dragon, all for the sake of curiosity and to see what it might do.

“That is enough for one day,” Stannis ordered.

The red priestess took one last look, hoping to glimpse the dragon within. She smiled once more and turned to leave as commanded. Her face craned upwards ever so briefly to the caged ceiling.

When they left Arya let go of the dragon’s mind, and awoke to her place perched high above the pit. She knew this was to be her last visit. Once more she was about to venture out alone, uncertain with what journey she was to take next.  Her dreams were getting stronger, and there was a pull to go north once more.  She had resisted the urge for days. She knew it was Bran who was compelling her to find him.  Every night in her dreams his crows urged her to come ‘home.’

She climbed down to the ground, retrieving the bundle she had hidden, and made her way towards the Old Gate.  Beyond the walls of city she would head north out onto the King’s Road.

There was peace in the Kingdom again, but that never meant much of anything to a girl traveling alone. When Ghost-Jon travelled with her she had felt safe for a time, but he was long gone.  It saddened her to recollect the last time she had seen the great direwolf.

 

 It had been a crisp and clear night, perhaps only two weeks into their journey. They were heading to Tarth to see about the rumoured sword training at Evanfall Hall. Arya was uncertain how she would manage to travel over the waters with Ghost-Jon, but decided she would figure that out when they arrived. Her thoughts had been interrupted by the sounds of Ghost-Jon returning from his hunt.

The wolf dragged the remains of a stag, his muzzle coated in blood, droplets falling upon the snow and fur of his chest. Every night he shared the fruits of his hunt, but that evening as she approached the carcass of the deer Ghost-Jon growled.

“It’s me. Why are you acting like this?” Arya chastised him as she bent down with her dagger to slice a piece of the meat.

The wolf snapped at her again. Arya halted and pulled her hand closer to her body. She slowly stepped back, shocked by his anger.  Ghost-Jon crouched over his kill, his haunches were rigid and his fur peaked in angry spikes as he bent low and growled fiercely. His yellow eyes looked strange and unfamiliar.

“You’re not there anymore are you?” The hollowness inside her grew.

The wolf returned to digging into the carcass of the deer, ignoring her as she backed away.  Arya took one last look over her shoulder at the wolf as he consumed his prey, a crack of bones against his teeth echoed out into the woods.  Arya hurried her pace thinking it best she put as much space as possible between herself and the dire wolf.

She was alone for the remainder of her journey to Tarth.

 

She had spent close to five years training as a Sapphire Knight.  Five years of routine and normalcy. She would wake with the sun, practice in the yards, sup, practice again, and then retire.  She suffered cuts, breaks and tender muscles, but they were the happiest days she had since she had left Winterfell as a child. Lady Brienne never recognized her as Eric, having worn a different face when she served as her squire. She was a young woman now, and growing tall for her age.  She wanted to maintain her anonymity and did her best not to draw attention to herself. Only once did she allow herself to gain any kind of notoriety during her early years at Tarth.  It had been the first tournament she had participated in, she had taken the archery contests easily, earning coin with each victory. When it came to swords she feigned her weaknesses, attacked when she should have dodged, bent right when she should have dipped left.  Still she took third.  Men could accept a woman beating them at archery, swords were another matter.  The only woman they seemed to accept a defeat from was the Lady Brienne. With a smirk she remembered the look on the Kingslayer’s face as he fell from his mount during the joust.  His mood had been surly for the rest of evening, she couldn’t help but notice he did not raise his cup when the others toasted her achievements.

After she finished her ale Arya had walked the long ice trail back towards the barracks of Evenfall Hall.  The women who trained at Evanfall Hall were given a smaller barracks, a girl from Lys, and another from Dorne were currently her only two companions. They would be at the inn for hours more.  Arya left early craving the solitude of an empty room.

The ale she drank filled her bladder and caused her sides to ache. She gingerly stepped down from the path into the cover of the cedar pines. Pulling down her breeches and squatting she sighed with relief she emptied her bladder.

She heard Lady Brienne’s laughter, a burst of joviality that was uncommon but infectious.  There was another voice with her, a man was with her, and it was not the Kingslayer.

“Is something wrong?  Are you hurt?” Brienne asked from where she fell, the man with her was Hyle Hunt.

Arya pulled up her breeches and stepped over her piss to hide behind the trunk of the tree, leaning out slightly to spy. Arya raised an eyebrow as Hyle Hunt gripped Brienne about her shoulders and delivered a clumsy kiss upon her lips. Brienne whacked him across the face with her fist.

“You forget yourself!”  

“Forgive me.  Too much drink,” he stammered.

“You are not forgiven.  Leave! You need to leave!”

“Please don’t, you mustn’t ask me to leave.”

“My husband will kill you when I tell him what you’ve done. It is for your own sake I tell you to leave Tarth at once.”

“But the children!”

“Our children are no concern of yours,” Lady Brienne snapped at him.

“But they are, my lady.  One of them is.”

“What?”

“Evan is mine.”

Arya had heard too much, and moved away from the scene playing out before her.  Information like that could be dangerous.  Hunt was a fool for revealing his secret in the manner he had.  As she watched the little boy grow, he seemed sweet enough. Good and kind.  More like Brienne. The golden-haired girl was her father’s through and through. Proud and boastful, and with reason to be.  The girl was gifted with a blade. From her scant observations of the children and of Hyle Hunt, it was clear he was watchful and protective of them both.  Arya could not understand why Brienne would allow the man to stay so close when he held such a dangerous secret.

On her way towards the Old Gate a convoy of red banners approached, coming from the west. There was a lack of wind in the early morning air, and the red Lannister banners lay limp, no rippling lion to boast the proud house.  It felt more fitting, as the cargo the convoy carried the remains of the little lion boy, Evan Lannister.

 

The Dragonslayer and Kingslayer’s son lay in a simple small wooden box, draped with a richly embroidered gold and red cloth.  Despite knowing his true parentage Arya thought,  _the colours are all wrong, the boy had belonged to the Lannisters of Tarth, it should have been a silver lion upon a field of blue and magenta_. She watched a crew of twelve mounted men pass; they were heading towards the manse belonging to the imp.  Arya recognized Ser Hyle, his face was gaunt, and in his sinewy arms he carried the Lannister girl, who shut her eyes and burrowed her head against his chest. Arya scanned the riders searching for her sister, or possibly Gendry.  She did not see either. Her eyes settled once more on the tiny coffin. Shaking her head she thought, dead _is dead, there is no point dwelling on it_.

Arya headed for the city gates.  The north was calling.

 

Brief summer snows greeted her as she pressed onwards north of the Twins.  The castles remained empty and as silent as tombs since the battle with the wights and others.  Men believed the place cursed, and the walls were already showing signs of neglect. If anyone tried to settle in the lands surrounding the Frey castle, they soon found themselves dangling from a tree. If one had to pass through the Twins, they did so swiftly.

Arya hoped the place remained desolate until the skeletons of the Freys inside turned to dust.

Arya stayed on the King’s Road and met few travellers. Out of habit she would seek the cover of the trees and brush whenever she heard someone approach.  But on this occasion, the day was foggy and she didn’t see the traveller until it was too late.  A large figure approached from the north. It was too late to hide, instead she concocted a story in her head tightened her hand upon her sword hidden beneath her cloak.  As the dark figure came closer, wisps of fog moved away from him, revealing his size she was astounded by his height.  The man was taller than Lady Brienne, taller than the mountain even.  She beamed when realized who was approaching.  Taking her hand from her hilt she increased her pace to greet Hodor.

It was like a small remaining fragment of her childhood had materialized before her eyes.  A smile appeared on his friendly simple face as she approached. 

“Hodor!” She greeted him with a hug. She clutched him, her ears yearning to hear his big voice.

“Hello, Arya,” Hodor said as he returned her hug, throwing his gentle strong arms about her shoulders.

Arya stiffened, her blood chilled, and everything felt heavy. Quickly she composed herself and drew back away from the giant.

He raised his hand, a gentle gesture, in a deep voice he said, “It’s me, Arya. Bran. Shall we talk?  Are you hungry?”

 

They sat around a campfire, roasting a rabbit on a spit before them.  Arya didn’t think she could stomach a meal, but the smell of the rabbit was convincing her otherwise.

“The time is coming soon.  You’ve done well, sister.”

Bran turned the rabbit. He had left one side too long at the fire, and the skin was crisp and black.  She thought of telling him so but bit her lip and listened to her brother.

The large man sat back down against the fallen log, breaking his bread with his thick fingers, offering her half. Arya shook her head.

“You know this took time. To be able to learn to move like this, to speak. Otherwise I would have come looking for your sooner.”

“What happened to Hodor?”

Bran looked down and away.

Arya squinted her eyes, she knew what he had done, and it disgusted her.

“Where is your real body, Bran?” Arya asked.

“It’s somewhere north,” Bran answered.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to rule Winterfell.”

Arya snorted. “Rule Winterfell? The place is lousy with Boltons.”

“They will all be dead by the next moon turn,” Bran said, a cold chill present in his deep voice.

Arya turned the rabbit once more.

“If you want a Stark at Winterfell once more, why don’t you rule?  You’re the eldest son.”

“That is impossible,” Bran said, his voice devoid of emotion.  “Look at me.”

“Well Sansa then?” She did not really think it was a realistic choice, but there was a deep part of her who wanted to avoid the requests her brother was making.

“She will war for the south, and remain there. She and her king will fight the dragon queen.”

“Daenerys Targaryen is dead.”

“Not that dragon queen.”

Arya thought of the princess in the dragon pits.

“A Stark must rule Winterfell. Arya, you must rule Winterfell.”

“What of Rickon? Arya asked. “He’s the next son.”

“No,” Bran answered.  He moved to his knees and pulled the rabbit from the fire. Ripping it in half with his hands like it was no more than plucking a flower from the grass.  He offered her half of the rabbit. “You.  It has to be you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17 days since my last post! I'm so sorry for the delay. I have been preoccupied with several other projects, including a podcast! http://closethedoorandcomehere.podbean.com/ - if you are so inclined to listen. We are also on itunes now too!
> 
> Ok enough of the plug. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. 2 more to go!
> 
> commasplice I love you thanks for your patience and for being the best beta!


	49. The Monster of Casterly Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tysha explores her new home.

Tyrion spent his waking hours in his study, locked away with his schemes and plots. He retired in the late hours, joining her in their bed chamber, his fingers stained with dark ink searching for her flesh.

When she awoke, she found herself alone once more. Tysha lay nestled in their bed, upon a soft gargantuan goose-down mattress and finely woven sheets covering her. She played with the fabric between her fingers thinking the linens were probably worth more than she could have made in a year back in her old life. She tossed the sheets to the side and thought of seeking Tyrion out.

He was bent over writing something when Tysha quietly stepped into the study. He never noticed her enter and didn’t look up as she approached. She sat on his papers hoping to draw his attention away. He smiled at her, patted her hand, and gently pulled a scroll from underneath her.

“Tyrion, I’m bored. Let us play cyvasse, or have some fun…”

“Why not explore?” Tyrion sighed as he sat his quill down. “This is your home now. You should know it. I’m very busy at the moment.”

There was a rap at the door and Lady Sansa poked her head in. Tyrion waved her in to join him.

“I’m sorry, Tysha, my dear, but we are very busy.” He placed his hand upon her leg, a gesture for her to remove herself from the desk.

She slid off its surface, sending scrolls and papers flying to the floor.

Tyrion sighed and jumped down to the floor to gather the mess she had made. Lady Sansa bent to help him.

Tysha eyed the ring of keys sitting on his desk. _He did say explore…_ She collected the ring of keys and left the study, Tyrion and Sansa were too busy collecting their letters from the floor to notice her leave.

Tysha had spent hours upon hours exploring the rooms of Casterly Rock that were unlocked to her. She passed the massive oaken doors of the library, making her way down a corridor. The books of the library were useless diversion as she had never learned her letters. She stopped briefly at a window to look at the gardens below. The little red-headed boy of Sansa’s was never allowed out without at least a half-a-dozen men accompanying him. He looked such a lonely figure surrounded by the Lannister guards. She wondered if he missed his little cousins. She kept her distance from Tyrion’s ‘family,’ for now they all agreed it was best.

Tyrion relayed the sad story to her shortly after they arrived at the Rock: A servant of the queen had killed Brienne’s son as payment for the death of her dragon. The daughter had spilled an unbelievable story of a cave witch rescuing her before their steward arrived. Tysha remembered the startling cries that rang through the halls of Tyrion’s manse at King’s Landing. Brienne’s grief had swallowed her completely, and as much as Tysha yearned to comfort her, she knew it was not her place.  She had had her moments with Brienne, and it was best not to dwell.

Tysha decided to visit the vast wine cellars before exploring the locked rooms of Casterly Rock. She was angry with Tyrion for dismissing her yet again and thought that drinking his best vintages would be a good start for revenge. She sauntered into the cellar and the elderly wine keep appraised her with judgement in his eyes. The servants thought she was no more than a whore from King’s Landing that Tyrion had brought back with him. Lady Sansa was well-loved amongst the servants, and they were fiercely loyal to her. As she greeted the servant, the man hid his distaste for Tysha’s presence poorly. A curl of his lip and grunt were her welcome.

Tysha added his name to her ever-growing list of servants she would be dismissing, “His lordship request two bottles of your finest reds.”

The man returned with two bottles of wine. His sinewy hands shook as he held them out for her.

“No not those.” Tysha pointed to two lone bottles kept locked under an iron cage.

Those are the ones he wants.”

The man cleared his throat, “Those are extremely rare vintages, the last two known in the realm,”

“So?” Tysha challenged.

“They are usually reserved for a very important occasions. The last bottle from this hold was opened to celebrate the birth of the twins over forty years ago!”

“Get the wine. Or shall I call for Lord Tyrion? You know he dismissed the last man who he felt slighted me?” Tysha grinned at the man's crestfallen face, knowing she had won.

“Yes, my lady.” The man pulled a ring of keys from his belt and retrieved the bottles.

 _My lady_ … Tysha thought, I am coming up in the world. She considered taking him off her list.

The man hesitated slightly and then sighed as he handed the bottles over to her.

Tysha let one go, catching it mid-air before it hit the ground.

The man gasped and clutched at his chest.

Tysha bit the cork and pulled it free, spitting it out she took a healthy gulp. “But my, that is good!” she exclaimed. “Master Tyrion will be sure to enjoy these.”

The man stared at her wide-eyed in shock as she took another chug of the wine.

Tysha turned away to climb the stairs. _Explore the castle? Fine. Let's see what we can find._

Tysha was feeling the wine. The thick dornish red barely swished in her mouth long enough to appreciate the taste of the fruitful notes. She polished off a bottle, set it down on a massive cherry-wood table and opened the other. The first room she unlocked was cold, its fireplace long free from ash. It meant little, now that the weather was warm, but the place had a ghostly feel about it; the dust was thick on the furniture; and it appeared as no one had been in there for years. Tysha strolled over to the wardrobe. Upon opening it, she was greeted with fine gowns. They were of deep rich colours embroidered with the finest stitching she had ever laid her eyes upon. Selecting a green gown embroidered with golden thread, she stepped out of her own dress and tried on this new one. It was large in the bodice, and much too long. She did her best to tie the white laces at the front. Tysha gathered up the skirt in her one hand and grabbed what remained of the second bottle of wine and went to explore elsewhere.

The second locked room she happened upon was larger, and cluttered with objects covered in sheets. Tysha set her bottle down and pulled the first large sheet off to reveal a large painting in a golden frame. She coughed as she inhaled a cloud of brown dust. The portrait was of a golden-haired woman, beautiful and obviously highborn. Beside her stood two little children, twins. Her hand was placed delicately over her swollen stomach. _Tyrion._ Tysha whispered as she touched the space where her little husband had been.

Tysha grabbed at another sheet to see what other paintings were hidden away. She gasped at the face that greeted her. 

_Him…_

Her blood went cold. Twyin Lannister. The monster of Casterly Rock, as she had come to think of him all these years.

His eyes were steely, cold, and full of righteous judgement.

 _It's just a painting,_ Tysha thought.

“Well how about that, Lord Tywin,” Tysha slurred to the painting. “It would seem I’ve won in the end.” She picked her bottle up from the floor and drank without pause for several seconds.

She walked closer to the painting, her eyes locked on his.

“Here I am. Married to your son. Drinking your finest wine.” She took another large sip, and it dribbled from her lips landing upon the white ribbons at the front of her dress. “And ruining what I hope is her dress.” Tysha pointed to the picture of his pregnant wife. “I wonder what people would think if I told them what you did. After you had me raped by your men, by your own son, how you came at me last. How you gave me _two_ golden dragons…” Tysha stopped as her voice broke. _How you said you were worth the most…_

Tysha wiped a few tears away with the back of her hand. “I refuse to shed another tear for you. You monster! I win! And you know what? I have to piss.” Tysha flung the painting down to the ground, a thunderous thump and a plume dust jumped up from the floor. Tysha stood over the painting, directly on top of Tywin Lannister’s face. She spread her legs, lifted her too-long-skirts and relieved herself, a pool of urine wetting her slippers.

“I sincerely wish I had to shit.” Tysha said as she stepped away from the painting. Sitting down on a trunk she removed her soiled slippers. She finished what remained of the wine and stood to leave. A monstrous crashing sound startled her, stopping her mid-pace.

Her heart pounded, and her back grew wet and clammy with fear. “Don’t be stupid, Tysha,” she whispered to herself. “He is dead.” _You’re dead_ … she reaffirmed.

Tysha went to inspect the source of the crash. Somehow a long trunk had upset. An assortment of large books spilled across the floor. Underneath them, the sheen of metal winked at her.

Tysha grabbed the sword by its hilt. Golden lions with rubies set in their eyes looked back at her. “This is Brienne’s sword,” Tysha whispered in astonishment. She and the lady Brienne had shared many days and nights together, her voice had been pained with emotion when she recounted to her the story of her lost precious sword. _The finest blade ever forged…_

There was no doubt in her mind; this was _Oathkeeper_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again my biggest thanks goes to Commasplice for being my beta reader! Only one chapter to go kiddos!


	50. A Dangerous Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lannisters of Tarth return home.

“Your daughter has arrived,” a small voice called out into the darkness of the room. It was a tone dripping in polite apologies.  Brienne sat up and nodded acknowledgement to the shadowy form of the servant  Jaime remained asleep beside her.  Brienne looked to the window; there was barely any light seeping through the windows only a slight hint of dark blue peeked through the shutters.  While her heart leapt with anxious and excited joy at the thought of holding her daughter again, it was quickly dampened with a wrench of pain knowing her son’s remains traveled with her.

“Jaime.” Brienne pressed her hand to his bare shoulder.  His skin was warm and smooth. She gently jostled him awake. He rolled over wiping his hand over the scruff of his face. “She’s here,” Brienne said.

Jaime looked at her sleepily with his green eyes, and widened with the realization. “Giselda,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat.

Brienne nodded.

Jaime scrambled out of the bed, throwing a tunic over his head as he rushed to the door, he stopped and waited for Brienne to pull on some breeches.

He gripped her hand tightly as they made their way to the front of the manse.  Tyrion stood waiting with Tysha; she gave Brienne a small smile.  Brienne acknowledged her with a nod.

“They are just arriving now.” Tyrion gestured to the door.

Jaime and Brienne pushed beyond the doors into the open courtyard.  The air was still, and the sweet sounds of goldfinches welcoming the day could be heard. A break in the clouds allowed for the sun’s gentle glowing orange light to settle upon the gates as they opened.  A dozen mounted men strode forward. Hyle Hunt rode at the front, a bundle wrapped in his arms.

Jaime inhaled sharply, and Brienne bit back tears.  Her husband’s grip tightened around hers. It took all her strength to not run across the gardens and meet them.

Hunt was the first to speak, “Giselda, we’ve arrived.” Her daughter stirred, her face pale and she sleepily blinked her large blue eyes .  She saw Jaime first and he stepped forward to gather her in his arms.  She clung to him, burying her tiny face into his neck.

"Giselda," Brienne choked out a whisper.

“Mama,” Giselda cried as she wriggled her arms out of Jaime's embrace, reaching for Brienne.

Brienne took Giselda from Jaime. Her daughter wrapped her arms around her and clutched her with all her strength. Brienne choked out happy tears, doing her best to muffle the sounds of her cries into the golden mane of her daughter’s hair.

 

_Brienne._

She inhaled a little deeper, the smell of the ocean not far away.

“Brienne...”

His voice and the sounds of gulls circling far above roused her further.

“Brienne.”

She could feel her slumber leaving her but she didn’t want to open her eyes, for fear that the smells and the sounds of her home were all a dream.  There had been so many countless nights spent sleeping under those eastern stars when she would dream of Jaime’s throaty whisper at her ear; his strong arms wrapped around her; the scruff of his face tickling her neck; and then as she turned to answer his kisses, she would awake.  Awake in a foreign landscape of tall grasses, far from her home.

“I’m not opening my eyes,” she said groggily.

“It’s me, Brienne,” He kissed her hard upon the lips. He sharply inhaled, like he was trying to breathe her in. Brienne returned his passion, her hands resting at the sides of his face. Yet still she refused to open her eyes.  She remembered her daughter. Breaking their kiss, her eyes snapped open. “Giselda.  Where is she?”

“She’s right there,” Jaime pointed to their daughter sitting in the shade beneath a plum tree.

Beside her in the grass lay her dagger; it was never far from her reach. In Giselda’s hands she held two green plums.  She threw one away and the fruit rolled and disappeared into the grasses and wildflowers.

“She’s fine.” Jaime comforted Brienne.  Leaning on his elbow to lay beside her, he lifted her sleeve to stroke her bare forearm.

“For how long?” Brienne muttered.

“Not this again.”

“You killed a red priest.”

“Well, nothing has come of it.”

“But it will.”

“We’ll be ready.”

The red priest had not journeyed far with them on their return to Tarth. He darkened the door of Tyrion's manse the day they left.  It was the same young priest who had taken them to the Great Red Temple the evening of Brienne's knighting and their 'fire marriage. ' They had made it a day and a half when the priest had stupidly uttered the words to their daughter, “One day you shall have a robe this colour, little lady.” The fool said it with a smile on his face as he rode up beside them.  He spoke his words to Giselda like he was delivering some great gift.  

It had happened almost too fast to comprehend, Jaime rode up and grabbed the priest by the robes, throwing him from his mount down to the road.

“Jaime!” Brienne yelled as she watched her husband dismount from his horse, pulling his sword free from its sheath.  The priest had still been alive, but his neck was twisted and clearly broken. Jaime sunk his blade into the undercarriage of the priest’s ribcage straight into his heart.  Brienne held Giselda in her arms.  Their daughter did not shake or cry, but she looked pale and wide-eyed from what she had just witnessed. “Jaime what have you done?” Brienne gasped.

“They will not have our daughter,” Jaime growled as he cleaned the priests blood from his blade.

All the major houses were required to empty their septs, killing those of the faith who refused to convert to the red god’s ways. The branches of the trees above them on their course home were littered with the burnt remains of the septons and septas of those who refused to adopt the new religion.  With each passing day and with every swinging charred corpse, white robes were being more readily swapped for red. There were many orphans from the wars, and in droves they were welcomed into the Red Temple at Kings Landing.  It would not be long before R'hllor’s faithful followers outnumbered those brave enough to hold on to the faith of the seven.

 

"Stannis and his red priestess will not be happy when they learn what we've done," Brienne said warily.  She did not want to revisit the conversation again, but it was something she could not let go of easily.

"Giselda!" Jaime called out to their daughter ignoring Brienne. He too was tired of speaking in the same circles. 

Giselda abandoned her spot beneath the plum tree, rising to answer her father's call.  She ran towards them, belting her dagger, her bare feet and hair flying free and wild behind her. 

Brienne half-smiled thinking of the arguments that were in store for her when she would later be combing the tangles free. Brienne sighed sadly at how tall her daughter was.  A wave of guilt falling upon her as she thought, _I was gone far too long..._

Septa Jayne had died at the Rock. Murdered by the Queen's servant, another casualty of Daenerys’ vengeance. She had been a good and kind septa, firm, but not cruel like Brienne’s had been as a child.  Now there were no more septas to choose from. To Brienne it mattered not, she was mistrustful and did not wish to leave her daughter in anyone's care but her own.  She would have slept on her daughter’s chamber floor if Jaime allowed it. 

Jaime rose from the grass, extending his hand downwards to help Brienne to her feet.  As she stood beside him he reached for her chin, cradling her face in his hand he locked his eyes with hers and said, "They will never have our daughter."

Giselda collided into his legs, her arms wrapped around him. Jaime lifted her from the ground and together they walked back to Evenfall Hall. 

The clashing of weapons and the bashing of shields echoed down the valley as they climbed the hill towards the castle.  The sounds were those of their Knights, men and women that had been called back to Tarth.  Yet another slight Stannis would not forgive when his attention turned back their way.  Brienne had pleaded with Jaime to reconsider, she cautioned he should heed Stannis' commands, as much as she disliked them, but he refused.

"There is still time, to send them away, Jaime."

"I will not sit idly by, leaving our home weak. Stannis will not be looking our way any time soon. Not with his arse newly perched on that throne. We have time to prepare."

"You mean to fight him?"

"If he comes to our home. Yes."

"What of Giselda? You court Stannis’ ire, you risk her life."

"I have made arrangements for you both; you will go to Casterly Rock."

"What do you mean?  I am not leaving you." Brienne looked at him stunned.

Jaime ran the back of his hand down over her cheek and said sadly, "Brienne every child needs a mother.  You know this as well as I do. If a war comes to Tarth, you will flee with Giselda and Hunt."

"Hunt?" Brienne exclaimed, shocked by his words.  Hunt was a name she had not expected to pass either of their lips ever again.  She had sent him away the day he returned to King's Landing.

"I know he was Evan's father, Brienne."

His words were like a dowsing of cold water against her bare back.

Brienne stared in shock at Jaime. As she searched for Giselda, she somewhat recovered from his words. Their daughter trailed ahead of them out of ear shot.

"I know Hunt bedded that woman. I know he was not your father's child."

"How?" She managed.

"Do you not think I would recognize the look of a man longing to father his child?" He so rarely spoke of his children with Cersei.

Brienne met his gaze, "Why did you not say something?"

"Why didn't you?"

"I thought you would send them away,"

" _Them?_ You feared I would turn out Evan and _Hunt_?" Jaime queried, a glint of hurt and jealousy present in his eyes.

"I did not care if Hunt was sent away.  I asked him to leave the night he confessed, but I relinquished."

"Why?"

"I made a vow, he saved your life... he loved Evan as a father would. He loves Giselda too."

Jaime pressed his lips thin. He was silent for a moment, and then with resolve in his voice he said, "This is why I've asked him to return.  I loathe the man, but we can trust him.  There are precious few we can. I trust him with her life, and I trust him with yours."

As they approached the stables, Giselda saw him first.  She burst into a run to greet Hyle Hunt. He tossed the horse brush aside and welcomed her with open arms.

"Ser Hyle!" Giselda screamed happily, as she jumped into his embrace.

"Ser Hyle," Jaime greeted him.

"Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne." His eye contact with her was polite and fleeting.

"Shall we sup?" Jaime motioned for them to head inside the main gates, the men reinforcing the walls stopped their work as they passed through.

 

Inside the courtyard Ser Dustin greeted them. "Ser, the stones have arrived from the quarry, as has the weaponry from the mainland. The master builder has questions regarding the new barracks, and there is a shipment just arrived from Casterly Rock."

Jaime waved the man away.  "It can wait until after we eat."

 

 

Brienne kissed her daughter’s forehead.  Giselda stared up at her with large blue eyes.  Brienne smiled and prepared for a question she knew was coming.

"Mother?"

"Yes, child?"

"When we die, will we see Evan again?"

Brienne did not know how to reply and after a moment she said, "Only the gods know my child." The answer felt hollow and weak. Giselda frowned, seemingly unimpressed with her answer.

Brienne bent down and pulled up her blankets to her daughter’s chin. "Goodnight" She brushed her curls to the side and kissed Giselda once before leaving her daughter’s chambers.

 

Brienne strode down the corridors, making her way to the main hall. 

"Ser Hyle, a word." Brienne spied the man whittling by the fire.

Hyle rose to greet her, the wood shavings falling from his lap to the stone floor. Brienne motioned for him to remain seated. She frowned as her eyes looked to the tapestry hanging above him.  It was a gift that had arrived depicting her slaying of Drogon.  Jaime was infuriatingly amused by her 'gifts. '  They quarreled over the fate of each one.  This particular argument had resulted in a duel.  The victor had say in what happened to the gift.  Jaime had won, and as a result she suffered to look upon the threaded abomination every time she traversed into their great hall.

"What are you working on?" Brienne asked.

"A little horse for Giselda." Hyle smoothed at the wood with his thumb.

Brienne sat beside him near the fire. "I never properly thanked you for protecting her. I was upset when I sent you away.  I know you would have ..." her voice broke, pausing briefly she blinked a tear away and continued, "done all that you could to protect Evan."

"My life, my Lady.  I would have given my life."

Brienne nodded. "If war comes to our shores, you are to do as Jaime asks. You take Giselda back to the Rock.  Lady Sansa will be a good mother."

"Ser Jaime said you are to come with us," Hyle said in a low tone.

Brienne rose and replied firmly, "My place is with my husband."

 

Jaime was leaning against the stone sill in their bed chamber.  His back was to her, and he did not turn to greet her as she entered the room. The window was open, allowing a pleasant wind to deliver sweet sea breezes into the room.  His white undershirt glowed in the moon light, and his hair was illuminated like pale gold.

He turned slightly to look at her, his profile lined with silver light. Brienne held her breath amazed she could still be struck by his beauty. He turned his gaze back to the night outside.

She went to him, placing her hand on his back. "What is it?" she asked, sensing something was wrong. His muscles felt tense beneath the thin fabric of his under shirt.

He did not answer, but a scrapping sound against the stone sill drew her attention downwards.

"How in the gods’ names?" she gasped.

Oathkeeper in all its deadly beauty lay beneath his palm. The brilliant sheen of its blade greeted her like an old friend.

"Take it," Jaime rasped.

Brienne reached for the sword’s hilt. It felt familiar and welcome in her hand."But Jaime... how?" 

"It arrived today. From the Rock," his green eyes smoldered dangerously.

"Tyrion..." she whispered.

"Tyrion." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So an ending with a potential beginning...  
> I can't help but like to leave it here. I am a big fan of the story living beyond the finish. My intent was always to build these characters up in a way, to set the board again, hopefully to have you speculate where these new players are heading. 
> 
> I know what happens next, but I don't think its a story people will be particularly interested in reading. I've seen a massive lack of interest in this sequel compared to the first, and it kind of broke my heart a little, because I know this story is so much stronger. That being said my heart is mended knowing so many of you really seemed to care what was to come next.
> 
> I have so many people to thank that kept me going, especially when I was filled with so much doubt.  
> I'll begin with my glorious beta, who I am kicking myself that I didn't meet 100 chapters ago. Commasplice you've been such a great friend, and have made these words much more digestible. Thank-you :)
> 
> Thank-you to Tamjlee, who left a comment on near every chapter - by far the most insightful reader to grace this fandom. I delighted in each comment you've sent my way. Thank-you to Sandwiches who called me "bad ass". To the most avid supporters I am in your debt. LenaG, Lady_blade_WarAngel, almeida4eva, and Bookworm484 (not sure where you went, but I have faith you'll be back). There are too many wonderful people to name, but if you've ever taken the time to leave me a note of encouragement, know that I am so very grateful.
> 
> I MUST also thank YellowDelaney for consistently telling me "you are a good writer", whenever I felt low. Thank you!
> 
> I know there are probably so many more I should single out, and if you are reading this now. Know that I cared that you took the time to read this all the way through and I thank-you.
> 
> I'm humbled.


End file.
